Future Rust, Future Dust
by eatreadandsleeprepeat
Summary: You "fall" down a hole. The outcome isn't quite what you thought it would be. (Pre-canon. Notes and content warnings inside.)
1. Vitriolic

Cross-posting from AO3. Will have a relationship between Chara and Asriel that can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic. Notes & potential triggers (also, spoilers?): Pre-canon. Second person POV. Nonbinary Chara. Abusive family. Misgendering. Two separate suicide attempts; both will be labeled, both are heavily implied by canon. Canonical character death.

* * *

 **vit ri ol' ic - adj., bitter, withering; highly caustic or biting**

* * *

"Love thy neighbor" – isn't that what they used to say? "Love thy neighbor as thyself." You are relieved to be given an out by this old proverb; since you don't love yourself, you didn't have to love anyone else. But you have a hard time believing everyone else in your village hates themselves as much as you do, so they're supposed to love _you_ , right?

Obviously not.

It wouldn't be so hard if it was just one thing. If it was only the village kids or adults, or just your parents, or only your brother. But it's all of them – all of them every single day, because when you're not getting snickered at in the hallways at school, you're being ridiculed and insulted of outside, and when you're not outside, you're being belittled and yelled at in your own house. Your parents don't care about or mind what happens to you when you're around the other kids, and you don't have any friends to ask you why you eat so much at school or always wear the same slightly-stained sweater.

You don't have a brother to defend you, or a mother to comfort you, or a father to teach you how to defend yourself. You have a brother who pushes you away, figuratively and literally; you have a mother who only looks at you with disappointment shining in her eyes and a scowl on her lips; you have a father who simply avoids looking at or interacting with you at all. They all hurt in different ways.

But all the shitty parts of your life fade to the back of your thoughts when you walk up to the beautiful golden flowers. At the far edge of your village, there is a flower patch that's the perfect size for you to lie down in – not that you do. This is where you garden; your love of gardening is seconded by your love of cooking. These interests make your life even more of a hell than it would be otherwise, but you wouldn't give them up for the world. It's one thing to hate it when people call you "boy" or "son" or "little man," but it's another thing entirely when you also have "girly" interests and shoulder-length hair. Everyone thinks that you want to _be_ a girl. The village kids call out your name in high-pitched voices with an "ee" or "a" sound tacked on the end. Most of the time it doesn't really make sense, but that doesn't stop them. Last week, some teenage girls threw an old, tattered dress at you, then ran away laughing with her friends. You have nothing against dresses, really, but you know you could absolutely never wear one.

But now wasn't the time to think about that stuff. You are in your garden, your safe haven. The slowly setting sun makes the golden flowers look even more vibrant. You kneel and begin uprooting any weeds you find. You're so lost in the repetitive but wonderful work that you don't hear the sound of footsteps behind you until a clod of dirt nails you between the shoulder blades.

You stand up and turn, incredulous. They can't know about this place; this is your only place away and they _can't_ know about it. You got called feminine for _wanting_ to garden and you can't even conceive how much worse it will be know that they know about the flower patch. Oh fuck, the flower patch—they might hurt the golden flowers! You make an immediate decision to defend the only bright spot in your life instead of running away like you tend to. The flowers are so vibrant and you won't, can't, stand to see them taken down like you usually are. You decide to deviate from your original pattern. You decide to act.

You decide that acting isn't going to work when you see your twin brother at the head of the gang. He has a sneer on his lips and a stick in his hand. You thought you might be able to lure the other kids away or otherwise convince them to hurt you instead of the only bright spot in your life, but with your brother at the head of the mob (about eight kids total), you know he'll zero in on the obviously tended to patch of beautiful flowers. He'll destroy the garden and then tell your parents. You're _dead._

Your brother begins throwing taunts, as he tends to do. "Heya, girly! What've we got here, huh?" He saunters forward.

You tense. Talking never works, but currently it's the only option. "What do you want? Isn't it almost time to go home?"

He raises an eyebrow. A couple of the other kids laugh. "I could ask you the same thing. What're you doing out here, all alone?" He glances around, somehow always managing to look down his nose. He spots the flowers; you can tell the moment his eyes land on them because his lips curl up in a cruel mockery of a smile. He walks around you. You almost make a grab for him but decide against it at the last moment; it would just make him more angry. Maybe he'll only _look_ at the flowers, you hope. "Oh oh oh, I see, I see," he says in a calculating voice. He raises his stick, then brings it down so hard you hear it whistle. He's too fast, or maybe you're too slow - he hits a flower. It bends at an angle that would tell you it was dead, even without the petals falling off.

He just killed one of your bright spots. Everything within you protests. It feels like something inside you is pushing, pushing, pushing - then it snaps.

No. _No._ _NO._ This cretin who is only your brother in blood will _not_ touch something as pure and wonderful as these blossoms. You decide that acting isn't doing to work. You decide to fight.

You make a grab for the stick. He sidesteps your efforts easily. He laughs. "Oh, girly, are you gonna fight back, now? This should be fun!" He cracks the stick across your arm. It stings. You ignore it.

You scan the ground for a weapon. You come up empty-handed, but you do get an idea. You see the group of bystanders shuffling awkwardly, not sure if they should intervene or not (they usually don't hurt you the way your brother does - they stick to jeers and embarrassing you). You make a mad dash for the crowd; not used to you fighting back, they scatter. You go after one specifically – a girl who always trips you in the hallways at school. You extend your arms, palms connecting with her shoulders, and push her down. She hits the ground with an _oof_. As planned, her brother comes after you next. He kicks your left knee, hard, and you fall. His foot is swinging back in preparation of a second attack when you see your brother lay a hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy stills immediately.

"Well, well, well, girly! What d'you think you're doing, attacking innocent bystanders like that? Tut, tut, tu - HEY!" With each condescending _tut_ , he tapped you with the stick. On the third, you made a grab for it. You emerge victorious and slash it across his chest. He stumbles back. You stand and brandish your stick at the crowd, and they run away in two's and three's. You can't imagine the stick is particularly impressive in and of itself, but combined with your wild hair, ripped sweater, the look in your eyes that promises retribution, and the knowledge that you will fight back - well, you're not altogether surprised that they fled.

You're left alone with your brother. He glares at the retreating figures. He stands and brushes the dirt of his clothes. Then he laughs, and you know you're fucked.

"Damn, you really wanna be a bad girly, huh? You know what happens to bad girlies, don't'cha?" He dashes to the flower patch and uproots a handful before you can stop him. You try to hit him again, but he grabs your forearm and twists it. You cry out and drop the stick. He picks it up and brings it down on the side of your head. "Bad girlies don't get gardens! What'll _mom_ say? Huh? Do you think mom's gonna be happy with this?" He swipes the stick across your cheek. It burns horribly, but it doesn't draw blood. You attempt to glare at him, but he only responds with a sneer. "Time to go home, girly."

He marches you through the town, his hand definitely bruising your arm, his nails digging in to your skin, with the bunch of flowers still clutched in his hand. You avoid looking at any of the villagers, knowing you'll see only amusement or irritation directed at your brother and yourself, respectively. All too soon, you've reached your house.

It's a quaint little thing – one floor, three rooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom. You're ridiculously grateful to have your own room. It's not a haven like your garden is – _was_ , goddamn it – but it's better than having to share a room with your brother. He's the only one who has ever repeatedly hit you; some of the kids might get rough, but the worst you usually get is a skinned knee; and sure, sometimes your mother might swing around a cooking spoon or spatula or even her hand, but yelling and sending you to bed without dinner is more her speed; and you're not even sure if your father has even brushed up against you since you were younger than seven; your brother is the main bully in your life.

For most of the children, you feel an intense dislike. For every adult in your life, hate. For your brother, you feel absolute loathing. And never has it been more intense than in this moment, as he's dragging you up the stairs to your house, dead flowers being crushed in his grip as they vainly try to escape his grasp. You've never fought back because you knew you would get hurt worse, and damn, you've never been more irritated at being proven right. Your cheek hurts like hell. You gently bring your hand and touch the welt, but quickly pull away, hissing in pain. Your brother turns and grins at you nastily, and then the door is opening, and your stomach turns, and you catch a glimpse of your mother. Then the words are spilling out of your brother's mouth and you only have a second-long lull before the house is filled with her ungodly screeching.

You batten down the hatches and prepare to weather the storm.


	2. Culpable

Non-explicit suicide attempt near the end, mostly skimmed over to avoid triggering; it's just the last little bit of the chapter under the cut if you want to skip it.

* * *

 **cul' pa ble - adj., deserving of blame, worthy of condemnation, guilty**

* * *

You and your brother were supposed to have _another_ brother – you were to be born triplets. Of course, it was absolutely terrible on your mother. She was always eating too much and then throwing it up the next morning. The doctors weren't overly worried (well, not anymore than they would be for any other upcoming triplet delivery) until your mother insisted on birthing you all the "natural way." No matter how much the doctors advised against it, she stood firm, saying that she wouldn't be "sliced open like a frog in a high school biology lab." So, your brother came out first, weighing a measly 3 pounds, 4 ounces. Next, you, at 5 pounds, 7 ounces. Lastly, your would-be other brother came out stillborn and underweight even for a triplet. Your parents were devastated, you mother most of all. She had carried all of you for so long, only for one to be dead; it wasn't fair, and she repeatedly said as much to your father, the doctors, and the neighbors. Your mother was diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. Obviously, you don't remember it. You've only heard stories – how she shambled from place to place, stopped cooking, refused to hold either you or your brother half the time.

But you do remember one day when you were five, just starting school; your parents dropped you and your brother off, but before they left, they were approached by a woman with greasy shoulder-length hair and eyes that never stayed in one spot for too long. She must have had asthma, you think when you look back on it, with the way her breathing sounded. Her gaze flickered between you and your brother. Then she abruptly grabbed your mother's sleeve and pointed directly at you, and cried out the words that would seal your fate, the words that didn't have any context at all, but somehow, it was still enough.

"It was his fault!"

And then she couldn't breathe.

And then she was dead.

Needless to say, it was one of the more terrifying experiences of your childhood. A lady having an asthma attack tells you that "it" was your fault – what? The asthma attack? The problem of evil? Of course, you know no one's thoughts jump to that. You all immediately think of your dead brother – you don't know why you do, and you don't know why everyone else does, and you don't know how you know that everyone else does. But you can see it in their eyes: your brother's buried resentment at not having a better playmate, your mother's immediate blame (that you don't see her without for the next seven years of your life), and your father's resignation to the circumstances he already seemed to know were imminent.

There were two things your mother loved most in life: her family and feeding her family. You always wanted to help cook. Your mother would always refuse, saying you were too young, while trading "significant looks" with your father. You thought it was just because she wanted to do all the cooking for herself – didn't want to share it, like the kids on the playground. Your mother _loved_ cooking.

So when you go to bed without dinner that night, you know something is wrong.

The only other time your mother had missed a meal, she was extremely sick, and so were you, and you'd just gotten an F on a paper. Eating wasn't exactly the first thing on your mind, so you went to bed without complaint and slept for twelve hours. The next day, she apologized.

You wished you were confused about what you did that was so bad that you were being dismissed out of hand. But you knew it the moment your mother set her eyes on you. So when it happened the next night, and the next, you weren't surprised. She occasionally will feed you dinner now, but if you've done even the slightest thing to annoy her, she'll just point you to your room – like asking to cook, or do laundry, or (god forbid) plant a flower or tend to the neighbors' gardens.

As you stand in the doorway, your mother's voice louder than a firetruck engine and almost as high-pitched, you know that you will be going to bed without dinner for the next week - no, next two weeks, _at least_. Maybe even a month. She's never gone longer than a week, consecutively. Who knows how much time you'll get for something as bad as this? you certainly don't, since you started tuning out your mother's angry squeals as soon as you entered the house. Your brother has a self-satisfied look on his face. Your father is no where to be seen.

You're eternally grateful that you're a smart kid for your age. You hate yourself, that's true - because you're weak, and useless, and different, and a million other things - but you've never let your family turn you completely against yourself. You know that it's not your fault that your fetal brother died. If anyone is at fault, it's your mother. You're not guilty of anything these people accuse you of. And yet.

And yet sometimes you find their words playing back in your head when you're alone at night in your room. You like to pretend like you're strong, like these people masquerading as your family can't ever hurt you, but you find yourself beating yourself up whenever your mother gets a look of simple disappointment instead of that angry blame, or your brother lets his deep-seated sadness show about having no real friends and no real siblings, or when you hear your father crying at night about your dysfunctional family. Because, guilty of your accused crime or not, it's still your fault that your family is this way. It's still your fault. It will always be your fault. You're no better than an interloper on what would otherwise be a fine family. A fine family that you would likely still hate with your entire being, but a fine family nonetheless.

You think about _it_ seriously for the first time in quite a while. You can tell from what your mother is saying, the patch will be utterly destroyed - "the will be earth salted and burned," were her exact words - and you...you feel...empty. It's hard to wrap your mind around the concept that in only a few days, the only good thing in this fucking village will be gone forever. You're lost. You're numb. You're broken. You want to cry, but you don't have the tears. Nothing in your life matters - your garden won't need you anymore. No one needs you or wants you. You almost laugh at how suddenly your world has collapsed, before remembering the company you're in. You think they're still talking, but you don't pay attention to anything until you hear the "go to your room - _right - this - instant_!" that you've been waiting for. You take off mechanically, and lie in bed, idly poking the welt on your cheek.

* * *

You're not typically a rash person; your current actions may seem hasty to some, yet they're anything but. You've had this plan for a long, long time. Dying sounds scary. Disappearing, on the other hand...

It's late, and it's much harder to see than you thought it would be. The mountain is craggy and you keep tripping. You don't know how long you've been walking for. How much longer until the fabled "disappearance"? Until the "monsters" came out and snatched you up?

You trip again. Once more, you reach out to break your fall, only to find that you...can't. You keep falling. Your stomach is doing flips while your body somehow goes limp. You surrender yourself to your fate.


	3. Equanimity

**eq ua' nim i ty – n., calmness, composure, refusal to panic**

* * *

You awaken to pain, which is extremely unfair, in your opinion. You groan and attempt to stretch – eugh, your right arm does _not_ feel healthy, but at least it wasn't your dominant hand. How far had you fallen? The ground below you was surprisingly soft, luckily – unluckily? You're not quite sure at this point. Of course, you'd rather _not_ be in terrible pain, no matter the choices, and if the villagers found you, who knows what they would do at this point. Your brother would probably tell you to try harder next time.

You're abruptly snapped out of your thoughts by a noise to your right. You try to sit up, but your injured arm gives out underneath you and you fall back down. You hear someone speaking to themself, the way children do when there's no one around.

"I think it came from over here…"

You scramble into a sitting position, desperate to get away from whoever's coming. It's one thing to quite obviously fail at killing yourself, but that combined with the fact that you even screwed _that_ up…well, you'd much rather avoid any interactions at all costs. Maybe you could get away and find another hole – a deeper one? Or just climb back up this one and try again? Wait, is there a way for you to even get out? You franticly turn, cradling your arm, looking for an exit, or at least a hiding place. Your time runs out.

"Oh! Howdy!"

You turn so fast that you fall down. You attempt to push yourself away from the stranger's voice, but with only one arm, you don't get very far. When your eyes alight on the stranger, you come to the conclusion that you apparently hit your head even harder than your arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" the monster asks.

Are you okay? Obviously not, if this goat monster has come to take you away to whatever hell kids like you get sent to. You don't say anything, but you do find a stick. You latch onto it with your left hand, even though you assume it will probably be useless against this monster. You would need a knife or something of that caliber to fight a monster, you assume – sticks would probably only hurt humans. Monsters have magic, right? You bet this thing, even though it appears to be a child, can take you out in one hit.

They see the stick in your hand and the look on your face, and their expression and voice become apologetic. "Oh! I'm sorry; I scared you, didn't I? I won't hurt you, I promise!" They smile, but it doesn't exactly reassure you since you can see the pointy fangs in their mouth.

A carnivore? Maybe they're trying to lower your defense to make you an easier kill? You don't let it fool you. Your voice is rough and crackly as you say, "What are you? What do you want?" You grimace. You've never been good at this _intimidation_ thing, but a night spent crying doesn't exactly do wonders for your voice.

They look confused. "I'm a Dreemurr – Asgore's son!"

When you show no signs of recognition, he takes a step closer, holding his hands up in a placating manner. You try again. "What do you want?"

"I was just looking around when I heard a crash," he says. You can see him debating his next sentence, but you're still surprised when he blurts out, "Are you a human?"

You're so baffled that you answer without hesitation. "Um, yeah? And you're a monster, right?"

He looks pleased, though you have no idea why. "Yup! What's your name?"

This time, you do hesitate. You're in a strange land where no one knows who you are. Worst (best? You're still not sure) case scenario, this monster kid kills you and that's that. On the other hand, maybe this could be a…new beginning? Maybe, even if it's only for a few seconds, you could be known as…

"Chara," you decide to answer. It's the first time you've ever said it out loud, and you decide that you love the way it sounds. Your new name. It's beautiful, and from here on out, it's what you'll be known as.

The monster grins brightly, seemingly glad to have elicited a response from you. "Chara, huh? That's a nice name!" His enthusiastic response has you smiling timidly. You squash down the urge to affirm that he really likes it. He continues, "My name is –"

" _Asriel_! What in the _world_ do you think you're doing, _running off_ all by yourself?!"

Asriel pouts and slumps his shoulders, but otherwise doesn't react. You flinch. What the hell? You thought you'd left crazy mothers behind when you jumped down a goddamn hole! Fuck, this one will probably find a way to blame you for all her problems too. You bemoan the unfairness of the whole situation.

You see a larger, more feminine version of Asriel come into your line of sight. You're still crouching on the ground so she doesn't see you and keeps talking to her…son, you suppose.

"You know you cannot go too far away from us! Your father says this was one of the weak spots – what if a human fell down?"

"Mom!" Asriel interrupts. He scurries over to you and – making sure to grab your good arm – pulls you up, surprisingly gently. "Mom, humans aren't scary! Look, I made a friend; their name is Chara and they're really nice! Well, they're a little scared, but I think that's because they're hurt!"

You are utterly baffled. What the hell is going on? You run away from being held onto by a boy your age and in a confrontation with his mother, only to awaken and find yourself being held onto by a boy your age and in a confrontation with his mother. She doesn't appear overtly threatening, but then again, your own mother was plump and really quite nice looking when she wasn't yelling. Yelling, like this monster was doing right now.

"ASRIEL! GET AWAY FROM THE…Oh. Oh, my goodness!" She actually looks at you for the first time since you met her. She approaches the pair of you. "Oh, Asriel, you said they're hurt? Where are you hurt, my child? Asriel, how old are they? Human, what's your name? How did you get here?"

You take a step back. This is too hectic and you feel overwhelmed. You're not sure how to react to this…concern. You were sure you'd be facing bloodthirsty monsters on this mountain whose only intent was to kill you. But instead, you're being asked your name and being called a "they," and no one has asked you if you're a boy or a girl yet. It's too much and you don't know how to react, so you flee; you wrench your arm out of Asriel's grip and hit him with the stick when he tries to grab on to you again. He makes a noise of pain but you're too panicked to feel bad. You turn and run away, your bangs obscuring your vision. You couldn't have been running for more than six seconds when you bump into a wall. Wait, no, it's too soft to be a wall. You push your bangs out of your face and look up, only to see a _massive_ goat monster with gigantic horns and fangs that juxtapose the benevolent expression on his face.

"Why, hello there! Who might you be?" His voice is deep and he speaks slowly and gently, as though to avoid startling people.

You can't move. Your scream freezes in your throat. You start shaking.

Then you take a deep breath. And another. You close your eyes. Alright, so far these monsters haven't hurt you. In fact, your only wound is from your own foolishness. If these goat things wanted to kill or otherwise hurt you, they could have done it easily already. No matter how much the woman monster's yelling reminded you of your own mother, or the way Asriel held your arm reminded you of your brother, they were all so obviously different. Asriel's mother was concerned about him, and even about you, too, once she realized you were hurt. And Asriel had been nothing but nice to you. And both of them were calling you a "they." The feeling in your chest when they had first done it had been amazing.

So you settle your breathing and open your eyes. The large (male?) monster is looking at you with a puzzled expression. He attempts a smile, and it reminds you of Asriel. "Are you all right?"

Asriel catches up with you before you can answer. "Chara, are you okay? Why did you run away?" He looks so hurt that you immediately feel guilty. He glances up at the big monster. "Dad! This is a human! Their name is Chara, and they're hurt!" You recall Asriel saying he was Asgore's son, so it wasn't too hard to guess the older monster's name.

Asgore's expression changes noticeably. He looks you over with an assessing eye, and you're reminded of the fact that these creatures could still kill you without a second thought. Asgore doesn't respond to the information that you're hurt the way the other adult monster did; he appears to be on his guard, and his voice has an edge to it when he says, "How did you get here?"

"Asgore! What do you think you're doing, questioning the human like that? They're a child, they're hurt, and they're obviously scared!"

You attempt to change your face into a brave expression. Beside you, Asriel giggles. You ignore him. You've decided that you're not going to let this…situation get to you. You're not going to flip out, despite the fact that you're surrounded by monsters and you're kind of hungry and your arm still hurts.

The adults are still talking. Well, arguing, but you don't bother making a distinction most of the time. Asriel tugs on your sleeve, so you turn to look at him; you take a moment to _really_ look at him. He has white fur (and a little tuft of it at the top of his head) and floppy ears. His fangs are about as intimidating as your canine teeth. He's wearing a green and yellow sweater. It's eerily similar to yours, excluding the colors – yours is just black and white striped. You decide that you like his better.

You realize he's speaking and that it's probably still dangerous to offend these monsters; you don't know how temperamental they may or may not be.

"Let's move over," he says. He glances back at his parents. "They might argue for a while. They do that sometimes."

You allow him to lead you a little ways away. You're extremely relieved to be away from them, but you're also nervous about being alone with Asriel. Your brother was always worse when there were no adults around. Of course, Asriel seems nice, but that doesn't stop you from expecting the worst to happen. You make sure you have a firm grip on your stick before you turn to face him.

He rubs his arm and visibly searches for conversation topics. "So, Chara, how old are you?"

"Ten," you answer, seeing no reason to withhold the truth.

"Aw, you're older than me! I'm only nine – but I'm almost ten!" He's pouting, but then he perks up. "Hey, at least I'm taller."

"What?" you scoff. "You are not. We're the same height."

"Nah," he says adamantly. "You're short."

You roll your eyes, but on the inside you're stuck between happiness and incredulity. Asriel is just so _nice_. It's disorienting. This family that mirrors your own – but it's just that! They only look similar on the surface. Everything else about them is the opposite of what you'd expect. The son who seems to want to be friends with you, the mother who immediately began caring for you, the father who…well, acknowledged you. You think about how odd it is that the monsters seem so friendly, so much more _humane_ than the _humans_ aboveground.

You glance over at the monster couple. They've settled down and are now talking in hushed voices, occasionally glancing over at you and Asriel. You know they're very likely debating the merits of taking you in versus leaving you here to fend for yourself. You try to imagine the argument.

Pros? None. Cons? You're a human who, in their point of view, might have harmful intentions, or might even find a way to lead other humans down here to wipe out the monsters once and for all. Toriel's rebuttal? Your arm is hurt and you look scared. Well, of course you would look scared if you were planning on leading an army down here, only to find your way blocked by a family of goat monsters. (You assure yourself that you are definitely _not_ scared; at most, you're unnerved. Even so, you're proud of how much you've kept your composure.) But, on the other hand, you're a child – could a child really hurt anyone?

You don't grace your hypothetical scenario with a response to that question.

"Hey," Asriel begins again, "how bad is your arm hurt?"

You attempt again to move it and cry out in pain; you let that serve as your response. The noise gets Toriel and Asgore's attention. It seems to give her the boost she needs to win the argument. She clips Asgore's shoulder with her hand (hoof?) and makes her way back over to you children. Asgore seems resigned. Well, you think, it's better than nothing. You smile at him timidly, and he blinks in surprise but smiles back. You count that as a victory.

Toriel is looking over your arm, asking how bad it hurts when she touches certain places. It's an exercise that you don't much enjoy, but you suppose it's necessary if they're going to fix it.

She then announces that you're all heading home, and you don't know how you feel. No matter how nice they are, you're still trespassing on this kind, caring family. You can't find it in yourself to resent them for being so happy; but you know that you'll have to leave eventually. They'll probably find a way to send you home as soon as possible, because their courtesy likely won't extend past the basics. You'll be right back where you started.

And then Asriel holds onto your hand, the one that's not cradled against your chest, and squeezes it just a little. You feel a lot better.


	4. Corroborate

**cor rob' or ate - v., to confirm, make more certain, verify**

* * *

It takes _forever_ to get to the Dreemurrs' house. Asgore stops and talks to a _lot_ of people, and Toriel isn't much better. Asriel does speak to a few monsters, but he stays by your side, and you're grateful for a constant in this hectic environment where even the seasons change if you walk far enough.

Eventually, though, you do reach "New Home." Asriel just shrugs ask him about the title.

"Haven't you noticed anything about my name?" he asks with a wry smile.

You think for a moment before you realize that "Asriel" is a combination of "Asgore" and "Toriel." You start giggling. Asriel nudges your arm, but you don't stop, and soon you're both laughing at his father's lack of finesse with names.

You stop laughing when you reach New Home and realize that it is a _literal palace._ It's large and tall and intimidating from the outside, and suddenly, Asgore's interactions with all those monsters makes a little more sense, as does Asriel's expectant look when he told you his last name. He was _royalty_. And you've been a borderline _asshole_ to him since you met him (of course, you had your reasons, but you doubt those really matter). Well, fuck. You thought that you might perhaps be spending the night with this family. But you know that a king, queen, and prince would never spend more time in your company than they absolutely had to. They probably only had to walk through the house to get to the place where they would use magic to send you back to the surface.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you walk through the house (which is actually quite homey), through a garden that you stare at enviously as you pass (Asriel tells you that it's his dad's; you immediately doubt this claim in your head but file away the information for future use), and finally through a door that lead to a room with a giant white and gray…thing. You assume this is how you'll be getting home.

Asgore, who up until this point had been facing straight ahead, turns to look at you. His face is solemn, but you know he was probably just putting on a whole "I'm so sorry you have to leave so soon" front; out of everyone, he'll be the most relieved to see you go.

"Chara," he begins, speaking in that slow-paced voice of his. You fight back the urge to tell him to get on with it already. "This is the Barrier. This is what keeps us monsters trapped in the Underground." He pauses. You almost roll your eyes, already knowing what will come next. _But humans can pass through so get your ass out of here_. "It also keeps humans trapped under here as well." You start. Wait, what?

You voice your thoughts aloud. "Holy hell, are you serious?"

"Chara, language!" Toriel admonishes, but it's half-hearted. She looks sad, which is odd. If she were disappointed about the fact that you would be staying, she would be irritated. Plus, she _had_ to have known this already; she's the queen, right? She would know stuff about the Barrier, like who can – or rather, can't – go through. So the only explanation is…she's sad at your reaction?

And then Toriel has taken you by the hand and they're all leading you up to the dining room, and Asriel spends the entire journey apologizing. Toriel and Asgore walk into the kitchen while Asriel sits next to you at a dining room table with three chairs. He looks close to tears by the time you've sat down at the table.

And it hits you. You won't have to go home. You _can't_ go home. You are going to have to stay in the Underground, far away from everyone you have ever known; you'll have to live with monsters who have unexplained magic and could easily hurt you if they wanted to, but instead apologize for not being able to send you back to the surface and cry for you and hold your hand. And you feel happier in that moment than you ever have before.

You start smiling, which quickly evolves into laughter. Asriel stops talking, confused, but you simply throw your left arm around him and pull him close, laughing into his shoulder. He hugs you back. You don't think he understands, but that action shows you that he's trying to. You hear Asgore walk into the room and pull yourself away from Asriel's all-encompassing hug.

"Do you promise?" you demand.

Asgore blinks. "I'm…sorry?" he asks.

"Do you promise that I don't have to go back? That I'll never have to go back?"

Asgore haltingly answers, "Well, there is physically no way for you to go back, so, I…promise?" He seems unsure about whether or not that was the correct answer, but you don't care; you run up to him and throw your arm around him. Your hand doesn't even touch his back, but you just need to make sure he understands your message. You don't know how else to express your gratitude; words can't suffice so you settle for this.

It's so _weird_. In the human world, it was hard for you to trust anyone; your family had jaded you to any and all interactions with other people. The fact that said other people bullied you didn't help. But you can tell how different these monsters are. You know that aboveground, they would be called "freaks," like you were, and that gives you a sense of closeness that you haven't had with anyone for as long as you can remember. You trust this strange but perfect family to take care of you, and later it will probably scare you how much faith you've put in them, but for now you want with all of your heart to stay with them for as long as they'll have you.

Asgore gently wraps an arm around you, and you almost start crying. You doubt he can hear you, but you whisper "Thank you" anyway. He pats your back.

Toriel walks in on you like that. A gently gasped "oh" is your only warning before Toriel starts hugging you too. You hear Asriel run across the kitchen floor and he's hugging you from your other side. You realize that you're whispering "thank you" over and over like it's a prayer, and you _know_ you'll regret being so open about your feelings later because when you're open and honest, they use it against you, but you can't bring yourself to care right at this warm, wonderful moment, as you experience the first full-family hug in your life.

You're surprised when you feel something wet on your face; you realize that you're crying. You pull away a bit and rub at your face, embarrassed. Toriel lets out a watery laugh, Asriel sniffles, and Asgore clears his throat. You feel a little better knowing that they all broke down to some degree as well. You still promise to yourself that you won't cry while you're down here any more – it makes you much too vulnerable. It was one of your rules on the surface, and you feel like it's the only one that still applies here.

You freeze when you realize that you've been making one _huge_ assumption this entire time. They said that you had to stay in the Underground. They didn't say that they were planning on keeping you _here_. For all you know, they already have plans to send you away to some other family of monsters, where you'll live with a family of dogs and they'll all consider you a trespasser and will probably send you to bed without food and yell at you. Or maybe there's a monster orphanage and you'll be sent there, where you'll be perpetually picked on for being the only human; you'll get the last bites of food and have the worst bed and never be adopted because not even _humans_ would want to adopt you so why would a _monster_ want you, especially when monsters are already so much better? No wonder Asgore isn't upset (even going so far as to comfort you) – he won't have to deal with you but for a little longer. How much longer? Will they let you stay the night and then kick you out tomorrow morning? Maybe they'll let you stay with them for a few days…No, no, it's selfish of you to think that way. They've all already done so much more than you could have ever asked for. You think about asking them about it but immediately discard that idea. It would probably be seen as a guilt trip. You make a note not to ask for anything, so as not to burden this family even further; it's not like you really need much, and you know you'll ask for even less. It's a fair trade off – you should be grateful to be alive right now.

That train of thought reminds you of how you fell into the Underground in the first place.

Asriel distracts you.

"Come on, Chara," he says, pulling your hand, "I wanna show you my room." He leads you down the hallway and you don't protest. Asgore and Toriel retreat back into the kitchen. Asriel's room is larger than yours was, but it doesn't exactly scream _prince_ to you. In fact, nothing about this house, aside from the outside appearance, would suggest that a royal family lives inside. His room is nice enough, though; there's a twin sized bed on the right wall, and on the far wall, there's a dresser, a nightstand, a currently empty picture frame, and a lamp. The left side of the room is taken up by scattered toys, crayons, and paper.

Asriel looks around the room for something to do. He walks over to the haphazard pile of crayons and gestures to it. "Do you wanna draw?"

You walk over to him and kneel on the ground, signaling your answer. "I've never drawn with crayons before," you tell him.

"Don't they have them in the overworld?" he asks. He's already picking out clean sheets of paper, laying one in front of you both.

You shrug. "We never had them at home, and…we didn't have them at school, either." They never let you use them. If you had an assignment where you had to color, they would hide all the crayons, colored pencils, and markers. You always had to shade it with a pencil. It always looked horrible.

Asriel looks sympathetic. "That's no good! Here, we can color all day if you want!" He smiles at you. You grin at his enthusiasm. The feeling in your chest when he looks so happy reminds you of the feeling you would get when gardening in the overworld. The reminder of the fact that the patch has almost definitely been destroyed makes you despondent, but you pull yourself out of the past, and grab a yellow crayon; at least now you know what you want to draw.

You concede that drawing all day would be difficult, as you soon find out that it's still hard to draw even when it's your non-dominant hand that's useless. You can't keep the paper still or hold extra crayons in your right hand, so it takes forever to switch colors because the crayons you want to use keep rolling away. You eventually give up and set your crayon (green) down with a huff. Asriel looks up at the noise.

"What's wrong, Chara?" he asks.

You almost ask him to hold the paper still for you ( _and make him stop drawing – really, when his is so much better than yours? How unbelievably self-centered)_ ; you almost ask him if you can do something besides coloring ( _it's always about you, isn't it? He's having fun!)_ ; you almost say that it's nothing ( _wow, honestly, how attention-seeking can you get?)_.

You end up changing the subject.

"Why do you say my name so often?" you ask. He really does use it a lot. It makes you feel conflicted; one the one hand, you feel so _happy_ to be called what you want to be called. Asriel calls you Chara and a "they" and he _still_ hasn't asked if you're a boy or a girl. It's liberating. But on some level, you feel like you're lying. He asked what your name _is_ , not what you _wanted_ it to be. Maybe he only hasn't asked about your gender because he's waiting for you to tell him, and the longer he has to wait, the ruder it would be considered. Shit, you almost definitely fucked this up.

Asriel tilts his head to the side and hums, as though deep in thought. Then he laughs and says, "I just really like your name! It's really cool!"

You clear your throat. "Uh, thanks! It means a lot to me that you like it. But, um, it's…um, it's not really my name."

"Oh, is it a nickname?" Asriel sounds unconcerned. He's still coloring.

You sigh. "Well, no, not really. It's just…what I _want_ my name to be." You have to fight hard to not make the last sentence sound like a question. What if names are super important to monsters? What if it's considered horrible etiquette not to tell someone your name and Asriel tells his parents and they send you away before you can even finish your drawing? Dammit, you need to know the rules of this new world!

Asriel looks up from his drawing, sets down his crayon (purple), and smiles at you. "That's all right, too! There's this ghost named Mettaton, and he didn't like his old name, so he changed it. Is that what you did?"

You feel a smile creeping across your face, and your eyes sting for the second time in as many hours. Here, people can just…change their names here? How amazing! You blink hard – you can't cry, even in front of Asriel. You settle for nodding.

He picks back up his crayon and adds some finishing touches to the drawing (you notice that it's a drawing of a Shyren that he spoke/sang to on the way here). "Well, you picked a really good name. You're definitely a Chara."

"You really think so?" Your words are disgustingly desperate, but you can't hold them in.

"Yeah! I mean, if you wanna change your name, that's fine, but I think Chara is a great name!"

"Thank you, Asriel," you say quietly. You're stuck between berating yourself for getting so worked up and reveling in pure relief. You are refilled with the initiative to color. You pick up a light green to color the grass around the flower in your drawing. It breaks as soon as it touches the paper. "Shit," you mutter.

Asriel gasps. "Chara!"

"What? Sorry, I got a bad crayon. It's not my fault it broke," you say defensively. You will not let this faulty crayon put you in a bad mood. You are feeling confident for the first time since you fell down here, and you refuse to let your good mood slip away so easily.

"No, not the crayon; I don't care about the crayon," he says, confusing you once more.

"Then what's wrong?"

Asriel glances around the room, as though anyone might be listening in. He leans forward. "You said a bad word!" he stage-whispers.

You snort. "Oh, that. Humans say bad words all the time," you reply flippantly.

"Well, don't let Mom hear you talk like that," he says with a serious expression. Then he continues, "Chara, can you tell me more about humans? And what it's like aboveground?"

You pause, considering. You set down your broken crayon and lean back a little bit.

"Well," you begin, "there's this thing in the sky called the sun."

* * *

And that's how Toriel finds you, almost an hour later – talking about the sky (sunrise and sunset and clouds); about the different seasons and how they all slowly morph into the next; about what you learned in school because monsters don't really _have_ an organized school system; and about the golden flowers.

"You said your dad has a garden?" you confirm. Asriel nods. "Well, in the aboveground, at the edge of the village, there was this bed of flowers - like this one." You tap the paper that holds your drawing. "I would go tend to them whenever I could."

Toriel makes her presence known. "Well, how about you two come eat, and then you can look at Asgore's garden, young one?"

You agree easily, but you do wonder how long she's been standing there. It unnerves you how someone so tall could move around so stealthily. You don't want anyone to be able to sneak up on you.

You find out that the reason Toriel spent so much time in the kitchen is because she was making you a pie. She said she didn't know whether you liked butterscotch or cinnamon, so she put in both. You wonder what would have happened if you didn't like either one, but luckily, you find that you enjoy it immensely. (You also really hope that Asriel is joking about "snail pie.")

The four of you eat a motley meal – you have your pie, Asriel is inhaling a salad, and Asgore is eating something that looks suspiciously slimy. Toriel is reading a book. Asgore comments on it, but she tells him that she ate while she was cooking for the rest of you. Asgore gives her an indulgent smile. You infer that this is a regular occurrence.

You can only finish off one slice – the pie is too intimidating for you to eat the whole thing – but you make sure Toriel knows how much you love it. In your head, you classify it as a going-away present. Why else would she make you something as unwarranted as this?

You are shocked, to say the least, when, after finishing your slice of pie, you find that your right arm doesn't hurt – at all. You tap Asriel's arm to get his attention and excitedly tell him that your arm is completely better.

He frowns. "Wait, doesn't human food make you better, too?"

You frown. "You're saying that monster food just magically makes you better?"

Asgore interrupts. "Our food is completely used up by the body; it's absorbed into and heals your soul, which, in turn, repairs your physical body. And yes, it is magic." He holds out a palm and a flame flickers to life in his hand. "A lot of things down here are magic."

You instinctively lean away, eyes as wide as your empty plate.

"Asgore Dreemurr! Do not scare the child like that!" Toriel slaps her husband with her book – hard. His magic fizzles away.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Tori, I was just –"

"Do not apologize to _me_!"

Asgore turns to you. "Chara, I am sorry I scared you," he says solemnly. You're more than a little surprised to find that he actually does look apologetic.

You puff out your chest. "I wasn't scared, just surprised." Asriel giggles. You hit him again. Toriel clears her throat. You decide to accept the older monster's apology. You have to crane your neck quite a bit to look him in the eye, which you don't like at _all_ , but you still say, "It's okay."

Toriel cuts off any of Asgore's potential replies by changing the subject. "Chara, I have been meaning to ask you about your schooling. You see, I teach Asriel, and I would like to teach both of you, side by side. If you are up for it, we can begin tomorrow. If not, we may wait for a while until you are feeling better."

"Wait, mom, Chara could only do school every other day, because we alternate between written stuff and magic stuff," Asriel points out eloquently.

"Ah, yes. I was hoping to educate them _about_ magic, as well as dodging and how to talk themself out of a hostile situation. We could all practice together in a safe environment!" Toriel directs her words back at you. "Of course, we will work out the exact details when you decide you want to start. But what do you think so far?"

 _What._

Are you reading this situation correctly? Do they want you to come back over to their home every day to learn? They want to keep up with you even after you've left?

You feel wanted.

"That sounds great!" you reply when you find your voice again. "But, how will I get back here?"

Toriel opens her mouth and then closes it. "…Pardon me?"

You tense. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. What did you say wrong.

"I just meant that, well, if wherever you guys send me is someplace like Snowdin, or somewhere else far away, would I still have to walk all the way here and back? Or would you guys provide…a…mode of transportation…? Never mind, I-I'm really sorry for assuming, I am completely fine with walking, I would love to be taught by you, Toriel, sorry for –"

"Chara," Asriel cuts you off, voice wavering. Oh no, his eyes are watering. Did you make him cry?! What have you _done_. "Don't you wanna stay with us?"

What. "What."

Asriel sniffles. "I guess it's okay if you wanna go away, but…"

You hurry to stop his ramblings. "No! It's not that at all! I would _love_ to stay with you, but I can't – I don't want to be a burden. I wouldn't do that to you all; if you want me to stay for a little bit longer, that would be amazing, but I can't stay _forever._ "

"Chara, you can stay for as long as you want!" Asgore says with a sense of finality. Wait. Is this a trick? But he looks so sincere, and Toriel's face is a mixture of emotions that you can't decipher, you can tell that, if Asriel were in charge, you would never be leaving.

"I…I…I want to stay…for as long as you'll have me." You rush to get the last bit out. It's a gamble, and you've already promised that you wouldn't ask for anything, but something pushes you to break your own rule for the chance of a lifetime.

Asgore smiles (you're not sure if you'll ever understand him), and Toriel looks relieved (well, her face is still in turmoil, but somehow you don't think any of it is directed at you).

Asriel reaches underneath the table for your hand, still sniffling. You meet him halfway and squeeze his hand gently. He gives you a soft smile, and the rest of the tension in your shoulders fades away like it never was. You see Asgore set his hand on the table, palm up, and Toriel folds hers on top of it. You lift yours and Asriel's hands and put them on the table, too, so that you mirror the couple across the table. You hear Asgore chuckle.

You feel…no, you _are_...wanted.

The only reason you don't ask for confirmation about the fact is because, for once, you know exactly what the answer would be.


	5. Repudiate

**re pu' di ate – v., to disown, reject, or deny the validity of**

You're sitting with Asriel in front of the warm, crackling fire in the living room while Asgore is outside with some monsters (named Aaron, if your memory serves) talking about getting a new bed into the palace. Toriel told you that they might not be able to get it in tonight, so you'll very likely be sharing a bed with Asriel. You're…not as un-okay with that as you thought you would be. Sure, you'll miss having your old room; you'll miss your garden. But…it's odd. You feel safe, even though you know you shouldn't. Right? You shouldn't. A house full of magical beings who are all so much more powerful than you? They have no reason to be anything but cruel to you - you're weaker, you're a burden, you're a human. And yet.

And yet you can feel motherly love radiating off Toriel as she sits in her chair, reading. It's too late for you to have a mother now ( _if you even deserved one - which you don't_ ), but you appreciate it all the same. Asgore is outside, making ( _unnecessary_ ) accommodations for you; still, you wouldn't even know what to do if you felt you could see him as a father figure. And Asriel. You don't know what role he's filling - your brother's? - but he's the one that you trust the most right now. In the parallels you're making to your old family, you had the _least_ reason to trust your brother. Your parents weren't the best, sure, and you'd absolutely prefer to have Toriel and Asgore in their positions. But your brother hurt you. Your brother destroyed your golden flowers. So why do you feel so open and trusting with Asriel? Is it because he was the one who found you? Because he likes to hold onto your hand- even though your fingers are too thin and you hold on too tight? Because he let you color with him? Because he calls you Chara? Because he hasn't hurt you yet?

You know you're wanted here. You're not sure why _anyone_ would want you, but you know without a doubt that this strange group of monsters is insistent that you stay here for as long as you want. But you're still having trouble believing that want is unconditional. What will they do when they realize that you don't see them all as your family? Will Toriel be heartbroken that you don't see her as a mother? Will Asgore be offended that you're still having a hard time trusting him? Will Asriel be mad that you don't like his parents - or maybe he'll feel like they're taking the attention off him? He's an only child; what if he gets mad at having to share everything with you once the novelty of your arrival wears off?

You glance over at him. The fire is making weird shadows across his fur that draw your eyes, so it takes you a second to realize that he's looking at you – really looking at you. Not like he would stare at a novelty or a passing interest; not like he's going to turn on you any second; not like he's burying resentment or jealousy.

He realizes that he's been caught staring. He snaps his head to look at the fire. You smile. You're pretty sure that if not for the façade the fire's glow gives him, you'd be seeing a blush on Asriel's face. Wait – do monsters even have blood? You kind of want to ask, but that is a really weird and creepy question to ask someone.

You hear Asgore come back into the house.

As he enters the main room, he says, "Chara, I am afraid that we cannot immediately move a bed in on such short notice. Are you all right with sharing a bed with Asriel for the night? If not, we can make arrangements for you to have your own bed."

"I'm fine sleeping with Asriel," you confirm. And you are.

Asgore nods. "In that case, it is bedtime, children."

Asriel whines, but you're a little confused. Bedtimes ceased being a thing for you by the age of six. You and Asriel are both approximately ten. It's baffling, but you assume that it's a monster thing and let it be.

It's only once you and Asriel are back in his room that you realize you have no pajamas. Well, looks like you'll be sleeping in your sweater. On the bright side, it's not as dirty as you would have expected it to be after trekking through the entire Underground. Wait, what if you get Asriel's bed dirty? Would it be better to sleep shirtless, or would that make him uncomfortable?

The solution to your dilemma is equal parts obvious and unexpected.

Asriel is standing in front of an open dresser, pulling out comfy-looking pants and a short-sleeved shirt. "Hey Chara, I guess you don't have your clothes since your fall down here wasn't exactly planned, huh?" He laughs a little bit. You shuffle awkwardly, but he's not looking. "I guess you need some pajamas! Do you wanna share mine?" He pulls out an outfit identical to the one he's picked out for himself.

"Sure," you say (because you are not going to refuse something that's as obviously offered as that). You turn around as he changes and he affords you the same courtesy. The clothes are very soft and very clean. You hold your old, dirty, human clothes in your arms, not quite sure what to do with them. You kind of want to…burn them. Standing here, wearing monster clothes, full after a monster meal, about to share a bed with a monster prince – you want to cast aside as much as your old life as you can. Fire is a good way to get rid of bad things, you know. Or you suppose cutting up the clothes would serve the same purpose; shredding them like the useless rags they are. Maybe both?

"Chara?" Toriel's voice breaks you out of your thoughts. Damn it, how can these monsters move around so quietly? It's disconcerting. You look over at her. "Would you like me to wash your clothes? I can get them back to you in a couple of days. Until then, you can wear Asriel's clothing as well. Would that be agreeable?"

Asriel looks…excited?...by the sentiment of sharing clothes. For as much as you ( _irrationally_ ) like and trust him, you've never claimed to understand him. You're a bit disappointed at the "getting them back" part, but you tell Toriel, "Yeah, that's fine."

She takes your clothes and leaves with a parting "Goodnight; sweet dreams." Asriel returns it immediately, but you're a second too late and she's gone before you can get it out.

"C'mon, Chara, let's go to bed," Asriel says. He turns off his light, but you can still see fine. He crawls under his covers and you follow with minimal hesitation. You make sure that you're not touching each other before you let yourself relax.

You have quite a bit more trouble falling asleep. You're used to a very quite environment (usually after your mother had yelled at you for a while), and while Asriel's breathing is exceedingly average in volume, it's still too loud. You wait what feels like hours before you decide that you're not getting to sleep like this. You quietly crawl out of the bed and creep over to the door. You decide to see if the fire is still burning; maybe you'll sit in front of it until the flames lull you to sleep.

Your plan is derailed when you hear voices coming from the room. You silently creep closer.

"Almost definitely," Asgore says sadly.

"I mean, if the injury on their cheek wasn't a give away," Toriel says like continuing a previous train of thought, "then their behavior definitely was."

"Yes, we must keep an eye on them."

Toriel mumbles something under her breath, and Asgore makes a noise of protest.

"No, Tori, I do not think that is wise. You know that, for all his amiable appearance, Sans does not take well to strangers, no matter how much they might have in common. And I get the feeling that Chara is not the type of person who enjoys being around doctors."

Toriel sighs. "I suppose you are right." You hear shuffling, like both monsters are getting up. You panic – they _can't_ know that you heard…whatever that was. You'll have to analyze the conversation.

You don't know if you can make it back to Asriel's room, so you open the door to the front yard and close it behind you. It's just as well, really, because you're feeling quite nauseous, and it's not solely because of the conversation you overheard. You're not used to eating much at all, especially at dinner, and especially something as rich as Toriel's pie.

The house is in the same perpetual twilight that you arrived in, so you can easily see where you're going. You run around to the side, where you're hidden by foliage on one side and the house on the house. You fall onto your knees with one hand to steady you while the other holds back your hair. You keep heaving for a long time, even after you've thrown up your dinner.

You stay there, on your knees, running over Toriel and Asgore's conversation. Probably about what a problem child you are – your behavior and the fact that the people on the surface didn't want you were "give aways" – and about meeting another problem child? Sans, they called them? Oh, but even with someone you had something in common with, they still wouldn't want to meet you. Because not even Asgore and Toriel want you here. They're almost definitely only keeping you out of a sense of duty, so that no other family has to put up with you.

You can't believe you trusted them that fast. Haven't you learned your lesson? No one _wants_ you here. You're still an intruder, and you always will be.

You stand up on shaky legs. _What are you going to do, huh? Run away again? You're so_ fucking _pathetic. What happened to a possible mother and father? Finally remembered that adults can never be trusted? And what about that "brother," huh? Bet he's laughing at you right now._

Shit, he probably is. You can't trust _anyone_ – you learned this a long time ago – so why did you let your guard down? Now they all know what a pathetic, worthless, useless failure you are.

You hear the door creak open. You spin on your heel to see Asriel standing in the doorway.

He takes one look at your pained expression and the arm you're wiping across your mouth and blurts, "Did you throw up?"

"No," you immediately deny. He clearly doesn't believe you at all and seems upset that you're not telling the truth. You change tactics. "Yes, but you can't tell anyone."

"Why not? Mom will make you feel better! She always does when I get sick."

"It's not that kind of sick," you tell him. "It's a human kind of sick. I'm fine now, so there's no reason to tell her and make her worry over nothing." You think that's pretty good for being put on the spot. He looks doubtful, so you say, "I swear I'm fine. I feel a lot better now. Do you promise not to tell Toriel?" You give him the most pitiful face you have (or at least, you think you do; you don't play the sympathy card very often). His resolve crumbles like dust.

"Okay," he says reluctantly. "But you're not hurting anymore, right? You'll tell me if it hurts?"

"I'll tell you," you lie.

It assuages the rest of his fears. He smiles and leads you back to his room. You allow this reluctantly. You know that, since he saw you, you couldn't have gotten away. And he just looked so _hurt_ and _sad_ at the thought of you being in pain or lying to him.

You'll need time to think this over.

You both climb into bed again. He grabs your hand and you let him. He seems to need some sort of assurance that you're still there. It's equal parts endearing, annoying, and comforting. He still seems restless, though. How else can you be there for him?

You decide to hum a tune; you've never heard it before, and it has no deeper meaning than being the first notes that popped into your head. You liked to hum when you would work with your flowers. You get lost in your only good memories. In no time at all, Asriel has drifted off.

You can tell that he sleeps peacefully through the night because anytime he would start to tense up, you just have to squeeze his hand and his expression smoothens out again. Focusing your attention on one thing makes the hours remaining until morning fly by.


	6. Frangible

Warning: this chapter contains a panic attack. Please skim to where you feel is safe if you think it might trigger you.

* * *

 **fran' gi ble – adj., fragile, easily broken; breakable**

* * *

 _Your brother has your right hand in a vice-like grip. You can't move. Your hand is being crushed while he forces you to watch your flowers being uprooted. The destruction of the patch is the only thing you can process. There's yelling – but then, when isn't there yelling? A flower hits you in the face; they keep throwing them at you. Your stomach is tied in knots. You see Asgore and Toriel – what are they doing here? This is your garden, your safe haven; no one can know about this place; they'll hate you if they find out what a girl you are. Oh, wait, they're fighting the villagers. You wonder why. Do monsters really hate humans that much? They'd probably been planning on hurting you since you met them. The thought doesn't surprise you, but you do wonder why they're hurting everyone else first. Your brother is trying to say something to you, but you can't hear him; it's too loud. You try to cover your ears, but the cacophony of noise around you doesn't lessen. They flowers are yelling now, too. You try to speak (to say what, you don't know), but flowers keep flying at you and filling your mouth. You can't speak because of the flowers, and you can't move because of your brother, and you can't breathe because the flowers are choking you. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You can't –_

You jerk awake, eyes still clenched shut. Right. A dream. But you're alone in your room now, so you're safe. What the _fuck,_ no you're _not; your brother is in your room._

He's still holding on to your hand. You struggle to get away. How did he get in here? No, no, no, this can't be happening; he stole your flower patch and now he's intruding on your room. Your last retreat is gone.

You manage to jerk your hand away and fall onto the floor. Wait – was he in your bed? Why is he in your bed? Your mind is racing to come up with an explanation when you realize that you're wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Why are you wearing something that leaves you vulnerable? Where is your sweater? Your brother will hit and twist your arms. He broke your arm recently, didn't he? You reach around, trying to feel the edge of your dresser. Your hand only touches air.

Are you not in your room? Where are you? Why is this room so big and airy? Where can you hide? You can hear your brother moving around on the bed – where can you hide? This room is too big but you feel like you're being crushed. You know that your breathing is too loud but you can't quite it. You need to _stop it_ because the last time he found you like this he laughed for a long time and he kept doing things to make you panic again and you can't let him know that you're panicking so _you need to stop it_ but you can't move and your knees draw up to your chest because your brother is getting off the bed. _No no no._ You start shaking. He's going to be horrible and you know that there's absolutely nothing you can do to avoid it. Your eyes start watering so you clench your fists hard – _absolutely no fucking crying._

His feet hit the floor.

You cover your head.

"Chara?" a soft voice asks.

Chara? Who's Chara? You can't be Chara. They don't know about Chara. You hear your brother's footsteps but you don't move; you don't know for sure if you can.

Yes, you can, and you realize it when your brother touches your arm. You scramble away before he can get a firm grip on you. You can't see; you're not sure if it's because your eyes are shut or because the room is dark. You hit a wall and you can feel the noises coming out of your throat – you're not crying but your body is wracked with sobs, or as much as it can be when you can barely take in any air to breathe out. You clench your teeth and fits to make yourself _shut the fuck up and calm the fuck down because now is not the goddamn time_ and you try to stay calm and _breathe_ but the air around you doesn't agree and adamantly refuses to go into your lungs. You bite your hand to keep yourself quiet because maybe if you're quiet then your mom won't yell at you and your brother will think you're boring and then he'll leave and you can be alone because you're always alone and you _like being alone_. Is that even true? You wouldn't know; you're always alone because no one wants you – wants to spend time with you; not your family not the villagers not Asgore and Toriel not –

 _Asriel_.

This isn't your room. This is Asriel's room. Asriel. Asriel touched your arm. Asriel is the shadowy figure that you see when you open your eyes, standing there, looking as helpless as you feel. Asriel is the one who called you Chara. You _are_ Chara now. Asriel is the one who wanted to help.

Asriel is the one who saw you break down.

You. _Fucking_. **_Idiot_**.

 _What kind of goddamn worthless useless helpless pitiful child are you that you flip the fuck out over_ _ **nothing**_ _; what the hell is so wrong with you that you whine and bitch and moan because you're so_ _ **moronic**_ _that you can't even remember the place you feel asleep; you're a_ _ **failure**_ _– you're unnecessary and unwanted and maybe next time you should_ _ **TRY FINDING A DEEPER HOLE.**_

You feel the skin on your arm break from where you're digging your nails into it.

You focus on the sting.

And take a deep, deep, deep breath.

You unclench your fists. Then, tense as you breathe in; go limp as you breathe out. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Okay.

You're shaky but you meet Asriel's eyes anyway. You don't trust yourself to speak just yet. He looks scared – for you? of you? You're not in a state of mind to evaluate things as complex as facial expressions at the moment. You have to pour all of your energy into focusing on keeping your breathing steady, otherwise you'll break again.

You and Asriel look at each other for quite a while. You're taking in his steady presence; he's shuffling, unsure what to do, but he's _there_.

Asriel, you've noticed, has a tendency to blurt things out, so you're not as surprised as you typically would be when he says, "I'm sorry for making you hold my hand." Your eyebrows scrunch up. He must see it, because he continues, "You woke up and you got scared because you were holding my hand. I'm sorry." He looks absolutely miserable.

Still making even breaths a priority, you say, "No, I…am sorry. That was…this is…my fault. Bad dream. Not…your fault."

"Bad dream? Oh! Do you…uh, want some hot chocolate?" Asriel appears more confident now that he has identified the source of your behavior. "Mom lets me have chocolate after bad dreams."

No. Absolutely not. Toriel would not want you stealing her son's chocolate. You don't deserve sweets. But you can't get out a response fast enough, and Asriel is already out the door. You redouble your efforts to not hyperventilate. You count backwards from one hundred instead of concocting worst-case scenarios in your head. You're at seventy-two when Asriel reenters the room with a candy bar.

"I can't make hot chocolate by myself," he explains, "and…I felt like you wouldn't want me to tell mom about it just yet…?"

If you could, you would hug him; but right now, you know touching someone would do much more harm than good. You settle for nodding in a sharp up-down-up-down motion. You're still sitting on the floor, shoulders hunched, limbs drawn close to your chest. Asriel slowly sits down cross-legged in front of you, giving you plenty of time to protest. You don't. He holds out the chocolate. You steel your nerves and reach out and grab it (because, damn it, you're not going to refuse something as obviously offered as that).

It tastes good. You don't deserve it. But Asriel looks happier. So you eat it.

You can't finish the whole thing. Your nerves are shot all to hell and this candy, while delicious, is too much. So you fold the wrapper back over the candy bar and ask, "Can I save the rest for later?"

Asriel has no objections, so you offer the half-eaten bar back to him. He sets it on the nightstand, then comes back and sits in front of you, a little closer this time.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks.

You shake you head no.

He fiddles with the edge of his shirt. "Well, it's almost time to get up anyway. Do you wanna go wake up Mom and ask her to make breakfast?"

You shrug.

Asriel frowns. "I think you should eat," he says in a decisive and no-nonsense tone. You smile a little at his enthusiasm. When he reaches a hand out to you, despite your misgivings, you take it and let him help you stand. It's so obviously not your brother's – so obviously not a human's. It's fuzzy and soft and a little too big and you decide that you're going to hold on until he pulls away.

You allow yourself a moment to gather your bearings. When you nod at Asriel, he leads you out of the room and to the left, to the rest of the hallway. He knocks on the first door on the left. You hear Toriel call "Come in," so you both enter.

Toriel's room is a cool blue color. She has a queen-sized bed (the thought makes you laugh internally) and apparently keeps a diary, as you see an open one sitting at her desk. She also has a very large bookshelf. You notice that she's the only one in the room. You wonder where Asgore is, but you decide not to worry about it.

As expected, Asriel asks for breakfast, Toriel agrees (not even looking at your interlocked hands twice), and soon you're sitting at the table again. Asriel still hasn't let go of your hand. It's secure without being too tight. You know you could withdraw your hand at any time; it's not at all like your dream last night or when you woke up this morning. You've already reasoned that Asriel fell asleep holding your hand and his sleep-addled mind didn't want to let go when you tried to pull away. You think of Asriel's sleepy actions as being in the same vein as your panicky actions – not really representative of you or him as a person.

Toriel enters the room with a big plate of pancakes. You reluctantly release Asriel's hand so that you and he can eat. You and Asriel have just finished filling your plates (well, he filled his; you only got one pancake because you do _not_ want a repeat of last night) when Asgore lumbers into the room. He obviously just woke up.

"Good morning, Asriel, Chara," he yawns.

"Good morning, Dad!" Asriel replies. You just nod at him then go back to picking at your pancake with a fork.

He and Toriel share a "significant look." You scowl at your plate as Toriel and Asgore both enter the kitchen. Asriel looks like he wants to ask you what's wrong, but decides against it. You appreciate it, but decide that after all he's done this morning it would be rude to continue leaving unanswered questions; he might talk to Toriel and Asgore. If they know that you know about the fact that they're keeping you out of pity (like how some famous people adopt underprivileged children), then they might decide that you're more trouble than you're worth and get rid of you. You don't know where you'd go, but the idea of a monster orphanage seems more and more likely. You need to stay on your best behavior.

So you begin talking, eyes trained on your plate, making sure to keep your voice low. You're not going to tell Asriel about your irritation at his parents just now, but maybe you can give an edited version of your dream to satiate his curiosity. "In my dream, it…well, it wasn't even that scary. I was in my garden, in the aboveground, and then there were lots of people in it; usually I'm the only one there so that made me uncomfortable. And they were yelling at me for…for no reason. And then the garden was, like, _alive_ , and the flowers were choking me." You bring a hand to your throat unconsciously. "They tasted really bad, and it was hard to breathe, and he wouldn't let go…And then I woke up." Your gaze focuses on Asriel. "Sorry I flipped out earlier. And thanks for not worrying Toriel about it."

"No problem, Chara!" Asriel smiles, but it fades away as he says, "And I'm sorry you had a scary dream, but at least we're moving in your new bed today!"

You smile, and when Asriel reaches out for your hand again, you smile wider. Toriel walks into the room just in time to see, and she aims a grin of her own at you. You can feel your smile strain around the edges and you look away, hoping she doesn't notice.

You have a feeling that she does.


	7. Salutary

**sal' u tar y – adj., beneficial, helpful**

* * *

It's just after lunch, and apparently that's when Toriel typically begins "school."

You and Asriel sit side by side in the living room. You have changed from your borrowed shirt back into your old sweater. You accidentally dug your nails in a little bit too hard when you were freaking out this morning, and you don't want to chance Toriel seeing the marks (if she hasn't already; you're honestly not sure whether or not she noticed. Toriel seems really perceptive).

Apparently, today is a "magic" day, so you'll be restricted to the sidelines. Toriel is lecturing Asriel about proper safety procedures when using magic around inexperienced people. You're pretty sure you detect a few jabs at Asgore; Toriel still seems upset that he _unnerved_ you at dinner last night.

( _God, was it only last night? You haven't even been staying with this family for a full day but it already feels like so long._ )

Toriel finishes up her monologue directed at Asriel. He looks appropriately cautioned. Toriel turns to you and takes a deep breath.

"Now, Chara, I know that at first the use of magic may seem confusing or overwhelming. However, we will keep it toned down for today to allow you time to adjust. Sill, if at any point you feel like it is getting to be too much, simply tell me, and Asriel and I will cease all magic immediately. We can take a break until you feel that you are ready to continue. Does that sound okay?"

You nod, though you're a little less enthusiastic about this idea than you were yesterday. You're a little shaky after this morning. What if you freak out again? You might be able to avoid a breakdown by asking Toriel and Asriel to stop, but what if you don't say something in time? What if you freak out in front of Toriel and she realizes that you're broken? What if –

Asriel grabs your hand. This is becoming ridiculous. Are you that easy to read? How does he always reach for you when your thoughts start getting out of hand? And why does he always go directly for hand-holding?

You resolutely ignore the way it calms you down.

"Wonderful!" Toriel says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You slide your hand out of Asriel's; you won't need constant reassurance as long as he's next to you. Toriel continues, "Come, then, children. We will practice in the garden."

Hell _yes_.

You don't say anything out loud, but the look Asriel gives you tells you that he can tell what you're thinking. You stick your tongue out at him, and he scrunches up his nose and turns away haughtily. You snort. Then he turns to you with a devious look in his eyes.

"Race ya!"

He sprints away before you can process his challenge. When you do, you let out an indignant shout of "Hey!" and take off after him, still being mindful of the fact that you're indoors. Asriel has no such qualms, so he pulls ahead. But once you're downstairs, you overtake him easily. You've had way more practice with running than he has, you're sure. You laugh, carefree, but then you realize that you're running through the streets – outdoors – vulnerable. There's no one outside, but you pick up the pace regardless. Your feeling of unease doesn't lessen when you enter a corridor. Everything is orange and yellow. There a towering windows to your left, which a strange light streams through. You leave that area as fast as you can.

You are, of course, the first to enter the garden. You're actually able to take it all in this time. There are so many different kinds of flowers; they're all beautiful, but your eyes are drawn to one kind in particular.

With a grin back on your face, you walk over to a patch of golden flowers. Well, okay, these are closer in color to yellow. They're not _your_ golden flowers, but…they're something. You kneel down and feel the petals of the one closest. They're smooth and soft and a little bit waxy. They look very carefully tended to; you can hardly see any weeds at all, and they're taller and look stronger than your flowers. You wonder how they even grow down here without sunlight or rainfall. Something in the soil? Or is it magic?

You hear Asriel come up behind you, and when you don't move, he sits down next to you.

"These are my dad's buttercups. Are they like the flower you drew yesterday?"

"Yeah, they're like them," you say, your gaze never leaving the flowers. Would they let you help tend to their garden? If Asgore and Asriel did it, then it wouldn't be considered girly, would it? Maybe they wouldn't mind your helping out?

"Hey, after school, do you wanna garden? You don't have to, but you can if you want to." Asriel looks hopeful.

Your eyes soften from the intense stare you're giving these flowers as you look over at him. "I'd like that."

"You two may play later. Now is the time for your education!" Toriel says in what you're coming to think of as her Teacher Voice. Asriel groans good-naturedly but gets up anyway.

You and Asriel move to the middle of the garden to where Toriel is standing and take a seat on the ground. Asriel looks excited, but you're a little nervous. You swallow down your misgivings and move a little closer to Asriel.

"Now, Chara, we will start with the basics. Both humans and monsters have souls; however, their souls are very different. Humans have stronger souls than monsters, so to balance things out, monsters are able to wield magic. When using a magical attack, though, monsters must leave their soul vulnerable and open to others' attacks. Each type of monster has different magical attacks, which are based on their type and environment. Certain monsters have very similar attacks. For example, Asgore and I both use fire magic. Our attacks used to be similar in power and intensity, but now he is stronger than I am. Not that it really matters, since the war is over, but, well…some monsters really like to fight, so you must be prepared for the worst! This is the reason I am training both of you now. It is unlikely that you will ever be engaged in combat, but I would like for you to be ready if something were to happen to you.

"Chara, you would be the most vulnerable in this situation. Asriel is able to use his statuses as both a monster and the son of Asgore to avoid potential conflicts, or he could do a number of faux-attacks to convince an enemy not to fight him. You, however, should attempt to talk your way out of a fight, or run away. Still, you should both be well-versed in dodging attacks. It is a skill that most monsters never feel the need to learn so it will give you an advantage in these encounters." Toriel pauses for breath. "Do you have any questions?" You raise your hand. "Yes, Chara?"

"What if talking doesn't work or if I can't run away?" You _know_ that talking doesn't work and you've always hated fleeing, even when it was a necessity. Maybe you can convince Toriel to train you in offense as well as defense. You feel like you should know all the possible ways to end a fight.

"In that case, you should try to get Asriel, Asgore, or myself to help you. The monster may be more likely to listen to one of us."

You frown. Does she not think that you can take care of yourself? Or is she admitting that humans are inferior to monsters? Well, okay, to be honest, you agree with that statement. Monsters are so much more powerful and tougher and smarter and cooler.

You really wish that you hadn't been born a human.

You continue your argument. "What if none of you are around? What if I'm all alone and some mean monsters are trying to hurt me?"

Toriel brushes off your concerns with a gentle smile. "I doubt that you would ever be very far away from home, my child, and even if you were, I do not think that Asriel would leave your side."

You glance over at said monster. He looks sheepish ( _why do you do this to yourself_ ) and whines, " _Mom_!"

Toriel laughs.

You feel like you're missing something.

You don't have much time to contemplate it, as Toriel decides that it's time to start "school." You reclaim your seat by the buttercups as Asriel and Toriel stand facing each other. You think that Toriel must do… _something_ because the next second you feel like you can't walk up to them. Well, you _could_ , but you feel like it would be a very bad, very dangerous idea. You stay firmly seated.

The fight is stunning. Toriel obviously has much, much more experience fighting, but it's apparent that Asriel trains every day, too. Like she had said, Toriel's attacks seem to be fire-based; they all come in the form of almost completely white fireballs. She seems to be holding back, to an extent. Even though her face is serious, you can tell that she's enjoying herself.

Controversially, Asriel's face tells you that he's having a blast. Instead of fireballs, his magic manifests itself as stars; he either does a big sweeping attack or lets loose a quick, intense stream of them.

Toriel and Asriel move back and forth, and for as chaotic as it seems, you can tell that they're taking turns. It's hypnotizing. If all monster attacks and fights are this beautiful, you can see where you might become fucked if you can't work up the nerve to dodge. Still, though, you can see both monsters moving easily into empty spaces so that they don't get hit. You're suitably impressed by this.

Toriel ends their session when Asriel lets out a noise of pain. She stops her attacks and runs over to him, kneeling down to make sure he isn't hurt. When she stands, she brushes the dirt off her robe, and motions for Asriel to follow her. They make their way over to you, and here Toriel kneels down once more.

"I hope we did not frighten you, Chara," Toriel says. "I may have gotten a bit carried away."

You shake your head no. "It wasn't scary; it was actually really pretty! I liked the attack where the fireballs made that loop-thing –" (You imitate it with your hands.) "– and Asriel had to get in the middle! And Asriel, I liked the attack where you had that _huge_ wall of stars; it was super cool, but it looked really hard to dodge." You aim a grin at both of them, but your enthusiasm dwindles as you realize you're complimenting attacks meant to _hurt people_ ; that's as weird as asking if monsters have blood. Why do you do this to yourself.

But no – they both look…flattered?

Asriel giggles. "Thanks, Chara! I like that one too! It's kinda hard to maintain, though; Dad's better at it than I am. And my favorite of Mom's attacks is the one where she goes like this –" (He makes a wide sweeping motion with his hands.) "– because even though it's _really_ hard to avoid, it's still fun to try!"

Toriel is smiling fondly. "Yes, well, I think that is enough fighting for today."

Asriel frowns. "C'mon, Mom! I'm fine – look, no dust!" He flaps his arms like a bird.

You're not sure how serious he's being, considering he's imitating flight, but the word "dust" confuses you quite a bit. But then you decide that today has taken a turn for the best so far, and you'd rather not ruin it by overanalyzing everything that seems out of context, so you let it go and don't worry about it. For now, at least.

"Hmm," Toriel says, scrunching up her nose as though deep in thought. "How about you two garden here for a little while, and then we will see if you are up for round two?"

You feel your eyes light up. It hasn't even been that long since you had your hands and knees covered in soil, but damn it, you are _excited_ to be in a garden – surrounded by flowers and people who aren't actively trying to hurt you and don't say that they hate you to your face. It's nice.

So yes, you're very enthused to tend to these flowers, even if a lot of them don't really look like they need much help. Asgore must do a very good job. You really hope he doesn't have any special activities that he needs done or doesn't want to be done to his flowers; knowing you, you'd probably fuck up if there were.

 _No,_ damn it! Today is a good day! You'll just ask. So you do. And Toriel assures you that you won't mess anything up, and even if you did, Asgore wouldn't be mad (or even irritated). You try you best to believe it.

It works, kind of. You feel okay about working with the Dreemurrs' flowers, if Toriel is right. You hope she is.

With both of your agreements, Toriel says, "Alright, then! I am fairly certain that the buttercups and the glories need the most work. Be sure to wear gloves, especially around the buttercups. Don't go near the rose patch since an adult will not be present the whole time you're working; I am going up to the castle for now, but Asgore should be down shortly. Asriel, call me on your cell phone if you need me for any reason. Okay?"

"I will, I will – can we garden now?" Asriel asks excitedly.

Toriel chuckles. "Yes, go ahead. Have fun, but be careful!"

"Okay, bye!" Asriel says, already taking off for the far side of the room. You follow at a more sedated pace. You feel good about staying down here and garden with Asriel. He's clearly excited, and is obviously looking forward to your working together. You smile fondly and pick up the pace; can't let Asriel have all the fun!


	8. Contiguous

**con tig' u ous - side by side, touching, near**

* * *

Working with gloves is a lot different from what you're used to. You can still _feel_ the flowers, the grass, and the dirt; but it's in a way you never have before. It's not bad, though, especially with Asriel near enough that you can look up and see him whenever you want. He's very focused on his work – he keeps moving his mouth but no words come out, and his tongue sticks out occasionally when he gets super into it. It is, for lack of a better word, adorable.

He's working on the "glories" (your guess is that they're morning glories, but without a real day-night/sunrise-sunset system here in the Underground, they just stay in the same state of bloom) while you work with the buttercups, humming under your breath. You haven't noticed any pests, which is a relief as much as it is weird; you keep making the motion to shoo away bugs only to realize that there are no bugs to shoo off. You've done it for the fourth time – and made the appropriately irritated face – when you hear a laugh. You jerk like you've been struck.

Asriel blinks. "Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." He sits down next to you. "I'm done with the glories, and they don't need to be watered, so I figured I'd come sit with you. You don't mind, do you?"

You shake your head no, so he sits down cross-legged by your side. Though you're more comfortable than you would be if it were anyone else, you're still quite self-conscious about your movements, and you stop your humming. The silence is too much for you though, so you fish around for conversation topics.

"Hey, earlier Toriel said that you have a cell phone. Do monsters have lots of updated technology like that?" Your house had a TV (not that you ever watched it since it was in the family room) so you know that your village was behind the times a bit; not many people in the village had phones, and no one in your family did, so you've never seen one.

"Hmm, kinda," Asriel replies. He pulls something rectangular out of his back pocket. It sits in the palm of his hand looking relatively unimpressive, you think. He presses a button and the screen comes to life. "This is probably an older call phone model. When I was younger, it fell through the barrier – and luckily, it didn't break! Most of the stuff we get is what's fallen in the trash dump – so its impact would be cushioned – but this one fell through there." He points to a door on the far side of the room that you hadn't noticed. "The only other things that come through there are the flowers and flower seeds, and those are probably 'natural,' according to Dad. Who knows how this phone got down here! Mom and Dad have ones that the Doc found in the garbage dump. Mine is special," he concludes with pride.

You stopped gardening about half-way through his explanation. A phone survived an impact that you broke an arm in? Jeez. His entire family has phones? Wow. And who's "the Doc"? They sound intimidating.

You decide to ask your last question.

Asriel answers, "Doctor Gaster! He's really cool, but he talks kinda weird. Only mom can understand him – well, and his kids, obviously. He's the royal scientist so sometimes he comes over sometimes to talk to Dad. They talk about the Barrier a lot, I think."

"Is he an actual doctor?" you ask, taking off your gloves.

"'Course he is! Most monsters don't get sick a lot, but when we do it's really bad. But with the Doc, we have all kinds of medicines and vaccines, so we're able to get better really fast!" You move so that you and Asriel are facing each other. "Did you know any doctors on the surface?" he asks.

You see no reason to hide the truth from him, so you shake your head. "Nah, humans get sick a lot, but we don't need a doctor every time we get sick." If that were the case, you'd not have lived this long. "We just get better on our own, unless it's something _really_ bad. Then, you can get medicine from the drug store or make a doctor's appointment." You fiddle with the edge of your sleeve. You should stop sharing so much about your old life. What if you slip up and say something about what your old family was like? They might think that you were an ingrate for running away and that you're not worth wasting their kindness on. Or maybe they'll take a cue from your old family and start…

No! Asriel wouldn't allow that. And Toriel tolerates likes you! And Asgore is getting you a bed, so he must at _least_ be resigned to having you around. They all let you work in the garden – they let you garden! That alone tells you that they can't be all bad. You focus back on Asriel and realize that he's smiling. This time, you offer your hand to him. He takes it, looking like you've just given him a present.

"Why do you always reach for my hand?" you wonder.

"You get this little crease, right here –" He uses his other hand to point to between his eyebrows, "and frown when you're thinking bad thoughts or get nervous. And Mom hugs me when I do stuff like that, but I…I don't know; I felt like you would prefer holding hands."

You swallow past a lump in your throat. "Why do you think bad thoughts?"

He smiles wryly. "Most of the kids…don't like to play with me. None of them really want to hang out in the garden, and when I try to play their games with them, they always let me win, which makes some of the younger kids get annoyed, like they think I'm _asking_ them to let me win. When really, I think it's boring. So, um…I don't really…have any real friends," he finishes, glancing away.

You smile. "Asriel, on the surface I didn't have any friends either!"

He looks at you skeptically. "But, Chara, you're really cool! Why would anyone not want to be your friend?"

"Well, uh." You bite your lip. You know that it's _okay_ to talk to him, but that doesn't mean it's easy. "Aboveground, I gardened whenever I could. And some of the village kids thought that it was…dumb. So no one wanted to hang out with me."

Asriel looks sympathetic. "Well, what about your family?"

 _No._ "Um, they were, uh…" **_No._** _Stop._ You scratch your neck. "I, um, they were –" _Absolutely fucking not. Stop right now._ You take a deep breath and squeeze Asriel's hand. "Maybe I'll tell you one day, okay? But not today."

His eyes are suspiciously glassy, and he looks like he wants to press the issue, but (thank god) he doesn't say anything. You both sit in silence for a moment as you revel in the serene, peaceful atmosphere of the garden ( _that you're allowed to garden in!_ ). It's nice here. You really hope that you never have to leave. Even if you can't bring yourself to talk about your old family and your thoughts get bad sometimes; it's okay, because Toriel will keep making you regular meals, and Asgore will keep doing his best to make you feel welcome, and Asriel will keep reaching for you when your fears get out of hand.

The tranquility is broken when you hear a hearty laugh come from the entrance. Asgore stands there with a phone held against his ear and a rather large watering can in his other hand. He says his goodbyes to whoever is on the other end and hangs up. He makes his way over to you and Asriel. You can tell that Asriel wants to run and greet him, so you let go of his hand. He takes a moment to give you a thankful look, and then shoots up and runs across the garden. Asgore slows in preparation of what he knows is coming. As expected, Asriel jumps at Asgore, arms outstretched; Asgore catches him easily, even with only one hand available. Asriel sits on his father's arm like it's a chair. You watch the exchange with a mixture of amusement and bemusement.

You can tell that Asriel is talking, but you can't make out what he's saying. He's gesturing widely, though; he seems excited about whatever he's talking about. Asgore smiles indulgently at his son. You abruptly feel like an outsider.

But, no, of course you're not, because the next second Asriel is (leaping off of Asgore's arm) back by your side and he's telling Asgore what a great job you did with the buttercups. Asgore glances at his flower patch and you don't even have time to get nervous before he smiles at you.

"You did an excellent job, Chara!" Asgore says. You feel pride well up in your chest. "In fact, would you like to be in charge of the buttercups? Asriel is in charge of the daisies and the lilacs. I believe that having your own say over something, even a patch of flowers, helps cultivate responsibility! So, what do you say?"

You grin widely. "Yes! I mean, if you're sure that it's fine, then of course!"

Asgore chuckles. "I am sure, Chara. Why don't you get started? Here, you may use this to water the buttercups." He offers the watering can to you.

You take it, smile never fading, and water _your_ flowers. It's not a flower patch at the edge of your village that you have to hide. You can spend time down here, by yourself or with Asriel, tending to the flowers, or simply resting in the peaceful atmosphere. You know that you're allowed to. It's a nice feeling. You hand the watering can back to Asgore.

"Thank you both for your help out here," he continues. "Also, just so you know, while we are eating dinner this evening, I will have Dogamy and Dogaressa bring in your bed, Chara. Oh, I trust that you slept well in Asriel's bed last night?"

"I slept fine," you lie easily. "I had a weird dream, though," you continue, hoping it will prevent Asriel from calling you out.

Asgore nods sagely. He puts a hand on both yours and Asriel's shoulders (you flinch, not because you're expecting to get hit, but more because you weren't expecting it altogether. You don't think that he notices.) and guides you towards the exit of the garden. "Yes, I have learned that one should not eat too much pie before bed; it causes the mind to come up with some mighty strange things. I once dreamed that every time I tried to speak, I would meow like a cat! It was not an effective strategy for running a kingdom."

Asriel laughs, and you're pretty sure that you're in the clear. "Hee hee! Well, that's funnier than Chara's dream." You are not in the clear.

You refrain from giving Asriel a look of betrayal; Asgore is looking at you expectantly. "Oh, it was really dumb, actually." You scratch your chin. "It was just like…there were lots of flowers everywhere. Everything was yellow." You swallow reflexively. "I much prefer it when the flowers are in the ground, ha." You attempt a laugh at the end. It doesn't work.

At that moment, Asgore's phone rings. He apologizes to you both, but he still answers; then he's looking straight ahead, focusing on the conversation as you and Asriel are pushed to the back of his thoughts.

You mirror him. You refuse to look over at Asriel, and you don't even bother listening in on Asgore's conversation. Your walk through the long, orange-yellow hallway has you crossing your arms across your chest. Your hands clench into fists when you exit the hallway only to find yourself outside, walking through the streets. This time, there are people about, which is irritating. Asgore waves at a few people, and you feel a lot of them staring at you. From what you can see out of the corner of your eye, their expressions range from curiosity to apprehension. Luckily, though, no one approaches you. You don't relax until you've reentered the palace.

You immediately go into the kitchen to wash your hands. You ignore Asriel's call of "Chara!" You're not going to talk to him after what he did. You feel betrayed that he would force you into a situation where you'd have to lie on the spot. How could he do that? He _knew_ you didn't want to talk about your dream. You thought he understood you! You trusted him with information that he threw around like it was nothing. You're hurt more than you feel like you should be.

Toriel is bustling around, preparing dinner, so you stand in the doorway, unsure whether or not to enter. She sees you and aims a smile in your direction.

"Oh, Chara, come in. Do you need anything?" she asks, taking a break as she wipes her hands on her apron.

"I was just gonna wash my hands," you say. She moves so that you can make your way over to the sink. "What are you cooking?" you ask curiously.

"We will be having soup tonight! I am making a variety: chicken and dumpling, broccoli and cheese, and snail, of course!" She turns back to her meal and stirs one of three pots.

You barely hold back a shudder. You linger in the kitchen, though; you don't want to go talk to Asriel or Asgore right now. If Toriel said that it was okay for you to garden, then maybe…?

Toriel notices that you haven't left yet. "Hmm, would you like to help?" she asks.

Your eyes widen. "I – um, really?" She smiles and nods. "Then, yeah! I would like that." You take a step forward. "What do you need me to do?"

And so you spend half an hour learning how to cook monster food. Toriel uses her fire magic instead of the stovetop to heat things up, so you're regulated to the other side of the kitchen. You use a butter knife to cut the dumplings and broccoli down to the perfect size. Toriel hums while she cooks, like you do when you garden. Every time you finish a handful of ingredients, she pauses just to say "Thank you," and then goes back to humming. It's repetitive and nice in the way that working with flowers is, if a bit more stressful because you're afraid of messing up.

It feels like not time at all has passed when Toriel asks you to set the table. You bring out the bowls and some small plates (for bread and crackers) and arrange them at each chair. Toriel brings out the pots because she said she didn't want you to burn yourself on them or spill the soup. You grab the utensils while she grabs whatever else she needs, and then she calls Asgore and Asriel in.

You sit in your seat feeling slightly anxious. You're irritated at Asriel but you don't want Toriel or Asgore to realize that anything is wrong. They would take Asriel's side, and make you talk about your dream because of the inconsistencies from what you told Asriel versus what you told Asgore, and it would just be a much bigger deal than it needed to be. You just don't want to talk about it!

Everyone else takes their seat. Asgore thanks Toriel for making dinner.

"Chara helped me, actually. They are a very good at working together in the kitchen – unlike some people I know," she says, raising an eyebrow at him. Asgore rubs the back of his neck, and Asriel giggles. You feel proud that you could be of help.

When you start eating, though, your good mood fades entirely. Not because of the food – the soup is _delicious_ , and you tell Toriel as much. She looks flattered that you think so.

No, you're sad because Asriel keeps sneaking you looks, and opening his mouth just to close it. You can tell that he really wants to talk to you, but he doesn't want to start a conversation and risk irritating you. You know that you should just accept the fact that you were wrong about Asriel; you have proof that he can't keep secrets, and you should stop trusting him so much. Don't get too close to him – or anyone – and you'll be fine. You always have been.

So then _why_ do you want to forgive him? He did something he knew was wrong! Your trust should be shattered, no questions asked.

But damn it, he looks so _sad._

 _Damn it!_

You sigh inaudibly. "So Asriel, is snail soup really that good?"

He snaps his head up to look at you, eyes wide. "Oh! Um. Snail soup is really good, yeah! Not as good as snail pie, though. But mom won't make pie every night." His happy grin tells you that he doesn't mind this; either that, or he's extremely relieved that you're still talking to him.

( _Why_ are _you still talking to him?_ )

Because you don't think he meant anything malicious by it – it was probably just a slip of the tongue. If he'd wanted to hurt you, he wouldn't have said something about the bad dream; he'd have told his parents about your freak out. But he didn't, so you'll forgive him. Still, though, he'll have to learn how to keep secrets, and not just for your sake. If he's always so open, he'll get hurt sooner or later; and for whatever reason, you don't want that to happen.

So you debate the merits of snail pie versus butterscotch-cinnamon pie with him. Asriel apparently hates cinnamon; you are appropriately incredulous. Toriel says she has no preference, but she gives you a wink when you tell her that that's a cop out. You feel more justified in your stance after that. Asriel says that you'll have to try snail pie to make a fair comparison. You almost choke on your soup.

"Uh, I think I'll pass. And if I don't eat any, then there's more for you, right?" you say, trying to get out of it.

Asriel considers it, but shakes his head. "No, it's okay if I'm sharing with you. You really need to try it."

You look imploringly at Toriel. She takes pity on you.

"Well, it does not matter right now since I have used up most of my stock of snails. And regardless, it is almost time for bed, children. Chara, your bed has been moved in, but if it is not to your liking, we should be able to get a new one."

"Oh, no!" you say quickly. "No, I'm positive it'll be fine. Thank you so much for what you've already given me."

"Of course," she says. "We just want you to be comfortable here, so if you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to tell Asgore or myself. It will not be any trouble."

"I will," you lie, but it's with a genuine smile. Even if you won't take them up on their offer, the fact that it was said at all warms your heart.

Toriel tells you that Asgore will help her clean, so you and Asriel head off to get ready for bed.

On the side of the room opposite to Asriel's bed, there is an identical bed pushed up against the wall. Even though you realize that it was moved in for Asriel's benefit – so that he wouldn't have to share a bed with you – you're still grateful to be given one. You hope that you'll be able to sleep better in a bed by yourself; you really don't want to have another freak out.

Once you and Asriel have both changed into pajamas (yours are still borrowed, but they're long-sleeved this time), he says, "Hey, Chara?"

You look at him. "Yeah?"

"Um…I'mreallysorryfortalkingaboutyourdreamearlierbecauseIknowthatyoureallydidn'twanttotalkaboutitandIdidn'tmeantosayanythingbutitjustkindofslippedout –"

 _Good god._ "Asriel! Calm down," you interrupt him. "I know that it was an accident. I just got irritated earlier."

"I really am sorry though!" He sniffles and his eyes look watery.

"I know that you're sorry; it was an accident," you say again. "And don't…don't be such a crybaby." Your teaching him not to get hurt might as well begin now. Rule number one is that you don't cry. It leaves you too open and vulnerable, so you'll make sure he doesn't cry as much. In front of you, it might be okay, but in front of anyone else it could be dangerous.

He rubs his eyes. "Sorry, sorry. Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

You sigh. "I don't know. I mean, I guess I'm not. Just don't do it again, okay?"

He nods resolutely. "I won't! I promise!"

You smile at him. "Thank you, Asriel." You reach out your hand, and he grabs it. You stay there for a moment before you let it drop.

"Thank you for forgiving me," he says. "I'm really, really sorry."

"I know," you say. You make your way over to your ( _your!_ ) bed and lie down. "Goodnight."

"'Night, Chara," Asriel replies.

You feel pretty good about today. You got your own patch of flowers, you got to cook, and Asriel promised to try to do better when you don't want to talk about something.

Somehow, you manage to fall asleep before Asriel does.


	9. Anodyne

Warnings for internal invalidation of a nonbinary gender identity and self-harm in the form of scratching.

* * *

 **an' o dyne** **– n./adj., something that sooths or comforts; serving to alleviate pain**

* * *

You wake up confused, and that is probably the only reason that you don't freak out.

Questions flash through your head, random and hectic – _Where are you? Is this your bed? Why does your sweater feel so soft; is it even your sweater? What time is it?_ – but your disorientation triggers déjà vu. You're not in your room. Your gaze sweeps around, and you know where you are because you can see Asriel's sleeping form against the other wall.

Some of the tension drains from your bones. You take a deep breath and lie back in your new bed, wearing your recently washed sweater, at, presumably, sometime early in the morning.

You stare at the ceiling and revel in the silent stillness of the room. There is no birdsong, no sunlight streaming through the window; the only light comes from the crack underneath Asriel's door, but it's still enough for you to see by.

In the quiet, you think. You think about the fact that you should, in all honesty, be freaking out – for two reasons.

The most obvious reason is the fact that you're currently living _literal_ _monsters_. Monsters – those things that everyone's grandmas and grandpas told stories about how their grandparents had fought in a war against. It was generations ago, but when you learn about it in school, they make it sound as though monsters are a very real threat; though, admittedly, that could have been because of where you lived.

The monsters were locked under the Barrier by a group of humans – humans who were able to wield magic. When the humans won the war, those powerful humans banded together to make an impassible Barrier to keep the monsters sealed away forever. However, even with all of their combined prowess, they were only able to make the Barrier half effective. The monsters wouldn't be able to get out, but things from the surface could fall through. Subsequently, a village was set up at the edge of the mountain where the final battle took place to prevent curious people from coming too close to the Barrier.

Over the years, though, it became something of a joke – or an urban legend, depending on who was asked. The villagers assumed that people couldn't fall through the Barrier, just items; of course, no one was willing to test this theory. Even if they had been, nobody knew exactly where the Barrier was located. There were legends that said that those who climbed the mountain never returned. Was it because monsters would grab your leg and pull you through the Barrier? Or did those unlucky few fall down it themselves? It depended on who was telling the story. You weren't sure how factual it was, considering you'd never heard any first-hand accounts, but superstitions were apparently enough for you to take that chance – the chance that you would never return.

But you don't want to think about that right now. Because you're happy now, and everything worked out in the end! If you'd never climbed the mountain, you wouldn't have met the Dreemurrs. You wouldn't have met Asriel.

Which brings you to the second reason you should be freaking out.

You can't _believe_ that you're being so trusting with _anyone_ , monsters or otherwise. And yet, here you are! You still trust him, even after he messed up, which is frankly just plain stupid. If he hurts you again, it'll be no one's fault but your own.

You glance to your left. It's almost like Asriel can feel your gaze; he lets out a sigh and stretches. His eyes blink open slowly. When he focuses on you, his mouth breaks into grin.

"G'mornin'," he mumbles sleepily.

"Morning," you reply. "How did you sleep?" You decide that you should probably get up now, so you sit up on the bed and face Asriel, making sure to keep the covers wrapped around you so that you don't get cold.

"Pretty good." He pauses. "You?" he asks hesitantly.

"Better," you say with a small smile.

He smiles back. "Good." Then his eyes widen and he jumps out of bed. "Chara! You never finished your chocolate!" He hands said bar to you with an expectant look in his eyes.

Today already seems like a better day.

* * *

Normal school is a lot slower and calmer than magic school. Toriel has you and Asriel working on math, which has never been your strong suit, but it's not too difficult. You still write your sevens and threes backwards, and sometimes you'll add the numbers instead of subtracting them, but overall you don't think that you do too terribly.

Asriel seems to be having trouble, so Toriel lets you draw on some extra sheets of paper while she helps him. You only have pencils at the moment, so you make an outline; you draw the buttercups in the garden ( _your buttercups!_ ), and you try to draw you and Asriel standing next to them. It's a lot harder than the math problems were. You can't quite get his shape down; it always comes out wrong somehow. You frown at your paper. You'll come back to that part. You start drawing your own outline, which is easier until you get to your face. You want to color the picture later, but you don't want to ruin it with your eyes. You make your bangs go over them. You try to do your mouth next, but your smile keeps looking too creepy. You don't want to make yourself frowning, but….

Toriel announces that school is over for the day. Asriel breathes a sigh of relief. You set down your pencil.

"Hey, Chara, what're you drawing? Can I see?" Asriel asks excitedly.

You shrug and slide the paper over to him.

"I like it!" he tells you. "But why did you cover up your eyes? I like your eyes."

You rub the back of your neck. "Oh. Well, I mean, I think they're neat and all, but they're not…they don't…I get that monsters might have weird-colored eyes, but it's weird for a human to have red eyes," you explain. Even acknowledging it aloud makes you fidget in your seat. Once you got older, you brother stopped making fun of your eye and left-handedness; he moved on to your interests, which got under your skin more than physical attributes that you had no control over. But that doesn't mean you like having your eyes singled out. And you weren't lying – you honestly think they're pretty damn cool! You just aren't sure how to react to someone else liking them.

Asriel looks at you closely – well, at your eyes. You fidget in your seat. He leans back and shakes his head decisively. "You would look weird with different colored eyes. I think they look good!"

It's sweet of him to say, you think, even if there is a chance that he's just saying that to make you feel good about yourself.

Once Toriel has gathered all of her school supplies, she says, "Asriel, would you go ask your father what he wants for dinner?"

"Alright! C'mon, Chara," he says, sliding out of his chair. You follow him to Asgore's room, leaving your half-finished drawing on the table.

Asgore says that he has no preference, and that you two can pick. You, of course, defer to Asriel, who decides on spaghetti. With that settled, Asriel says that you should finish your drawing. You divert his attention with a question as you exit Asgore's room.

"Why do your mom and dad have different rooms?" you ask.

Asriel shrugs. "There isn't really a bed big enough for both of them, I think. And I dunno if two big beds would fit in one room." Instead of going right, back to the rest of the house, Asriel turns left. You look at him quizzically as he looks at himself in a mirror.

"What are you doing?" you ask. You can't remember the last time you looked in a real mirror – random reflective surfaces, sure, but not something like this wall-mirror.

Asriel gets a sly look on his face that makes you nervous, then grabs your arm and pulls you so that you're standing next to him. You almost sock him in the jaw because _what the fuck why the fuck would he do that_.

Asriel either doesn't notice, or pretends not to. "Here, now you have a reference for what we look like standing next to each other!" he announces proudly.

You give him an odd look, but you look at your faces in the mirror nonetheless. Your eyes roam over the image you two make, mismatched but somehow fitting. You feel your lips quirk into a smile. He looks happy. Then you move your eyes to your reflection and are promptly reminded you of why you hate mirrors. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are ragged, and your rosy complexion belies your hollow cheeks. You're smiling – no, not smiling; your lips are twisted in a mockery of happiness, but your eyes don't crinkle. They stay wide: staring, ugly, and creepy. You blank your face out of habit. You pull away from Asriel's side. You're done with the mirror.

Asriel frowns. "Chara, what's –?"

"Nothing," you say, voice flat. You've smiled so much since you came here. It's not like you ever actively avoided it on the surface; it served as a nifty trick for frightening away would-be harassers. It stopped teachers from calling on you, and adults from talking to you. You've never smiled at your family before. Why did none of the Dreemurrs _say_ anything?

"Chara," Asriel says in a tone that he obviously adopted from his father. You look him in the eye. "What's wrong?"

You pull at the edge of your hair. "I." _Fuck it. Honesty seems to be working so far._ "I look creepy when I smile." _Creepier than usual, that is._

Asriel sighs softly. He grabs your hand. "Chara, you look pretty when you smile," he argues.

You freeze.

You wrench your hand out of Asriel's grip.

He looks at you, bemused. "Wh–"

"I," you start, voice low, "am not _pretty_." You spit out the word. "I am not _pretty_ , I am not _cute_ , and I am _not_ a _fucking_ _girl_!" You're shaking. You want to hit him – no, you don't! You back away and run into his room, but get in _your_ bed. Why would you want to hit him? But he keeps betraying you and saying the wrong thing and _of course_ he thinks you're girly! This is all your fault, anyway; first, you trusted him again; second, you act like a fucking wimp and then expect – what? For everyone to act like gender doesn't exist?! The world won't cater to your _childish whims_ so you'd better _man up_ and act like a boy otherwise people will keep saying that you're a girl, you know they will; and now it's finally happening, and Asriel thinks you're a girl, and –

You try biting your lip and digging your nails into your arm but it's not enough, _it's_ _not._

 _What was that thought earlier – "lying to make you feel good about yourself"? Or maybe he prefers the term "bluffing"?_

You squeeze your eyes shut and drag your left hand's nails across your right arm, over and over and over. It feels like you're letting everything bad out with each rake. It burns and you know it will be as red as your eyes when you're done. Your motions get slower but harder until you finally take a deep breath. You lean your head back against the wall and let your hand rest over the raised skin. _Why_ did you have to trust these people? It will just hurt so much more when you have to leave.

 _But didn't they say that you could stay as long as you wanted?_

And look at how _that's_ working out. At this rate, you'll be out of here before you know it. You lie down, under the covers, facing the wall, and let your fingers run up and down the raised, red skin on your arm. Your breathing evens out as you feel the uneven skin.

Asriel doesn't come into the room.

You almost fall asleep, but you never do because someone else opens the door.

"My ch…Chara? Are you all right?"

You jerk upright. "T-Toriel? What is it?"

She makes her way across the room and turns on the light. "Asriel told me –" _that he hates you, that you're a brat, that you need to leave already, that you –_ "that he thinks you need someone to talk to. He said you had a…an unpleasant reaction to a certain word, and I wanted to ask why." Her voice is gentle, and she takes a seat on Asriel's bed so that she's not hovering over you.

You still just pull down your sleeves over your hands and look at your lap. Is she going to make you talk? Is she expecting for you to tell them your _real_ gender? Does she want you to apologize about going off on Asriel? You remain silent, hoping she'll get bored and leave, or yell at you and just get it over with.

She doesn't say anything. Neither do you.

You bite your lip. She doesn't say anything.

You glance up at her through your bangs. She looks relaxed and open and ready to listen and try to help.

You open up a little.

"I don't like…I hate being called a girl, or girly, or whatever. It's not anything against girls, it's just that…." You run a hand through your hair. "I _like_ having my hair long, and I kind of even like how rosy my cheeks are. I _love_ gardening – I love flowers and grass and dirt. I love seeing them grow. And I've always wanted to learn…how to cook, or bake, or whatever, because I like _making_ things. I like helping things become something better. But I, I got made fun of for liking that stuff….Humans are really mean, Toriel, y'know? I just…I _can't_ be pretty. And when Asriel said that, it just felt like…a punch in the gut. It reminded me too much of – of them. And even down here, I have to remind myself over and over and _over_ that it's _okay_ for me to do all of that stuff – stuff that I was always called girly for enjoying, but none of you ever did, until…I…." You sigh in frustration and trail off. You almost get into the fact that you don't want to be a boy, either, to nip that idea in the bud before she starts thinking as much, but you feel like you've shared so much already. You were more than reluctant to share this much; to be honest, you're not quite sure why you did. Something about Toriel makes you feel like you can. Like it will be okay, like it will be better if you just _talk_ about it. You do feel lighter, in a way, but you also feel sick as you await Toriel's response.

She stands up, walks across the room, and hugs you.

You can't move for a moment – but then you bury your head into the crook between her head and her shoulder and hold on tight. You take a shuddering breath. Her arms circle around you and you feel safe, safer than you have since you were with Asriel in the garden – maybe even safer than that. Nothing can hurt you here, with a mother (not your mother, but a mother nevertheless) holding you and shushing you even though you're barely making a sound.

"Chara," she says in that soft-gentle-safe voice, "you will be okay here, I promise, but you need to let us _help_ you. We do not know you completely, but we all want to, and the only way that will happen is if you _talk_ to us. Thank you so much for telling me what was wrong, Chara. I am sorry you had to live with…with those idiotic humans; they do not deserve you in the least. I am elated to have you here with us, Chara. And gardening, or cooking, or your appearance – none of those things will dictate what we think of your 'gender,' or lack thereof. Asriel is immensely regretful that what he said hurt you. He would never hurt you on purpose, Chara, you know that. He is so sorry, and by talking to him you can make sure that something like this will not happen again. You do not have to think that your interests automatically define you in some way." Your fingers dig in harder and you pray that you're not hurting her but you need her to _understand_ because right now you can't form words. "My child, we all love you."

You let out a shaky laugh that's almost a sob. "I…I…I…." You give up and settle for just holding her tighter.

"I know," she says. "I know."


	10. Adventitious

**Warning for a panic attack while the Dreemurrs are out.**

* * *

 **ad ven ti' tious – adj., resulting from chance; accidental**

* * *

It's quite a while before you're comfortable around Asriel again. He's even more careful with what he says around you than he was before. At first it was grating, seeing him look at you to guess your reaction to whatever he was about to say, but you soon realize that it's a good skill for him to have. He should be able to read people (to an extent) so that he knows what to say, and when to say it, to be control of a situation or conversation. But he doesn't need to be able to read _you_ that well – you would only lie to him if you had a good enough reason, and in that case, you wouldn't want him to know that you were lying.

So you let your guard down again. But this time, it's not because your guard was chipped down, bit by bit, by nice words and hand-holding and smiles. You let it down because you _want_ it down. Instead of being wary of Asriel hurting you again, you know he won't; his puffy eyes and hesitant words are proof enough of that. If he ever hurts you again, you have no doubt that he would beat himself up over it faster than you or his parents could berate him.

Asgore seems a bit hesitant around you, too. He smiles at you a lot, and though you have trouble returning them, they always make you feel just a bit better.

Ironically, Toriel seems to baby you the least. You appreciate it immensely; you don't know what you would have done if she had tried to coddle you. She almost always offers to let you help with dinner, and you almost always say yes.

You have nightmares most every night. Sometimes you have a freakout, but it happens less and less often as time goes on. Surprisingly, these times only serve to make you more comfortable around Asriel. When you're a wreck and your arms are red and you're tugging at your hair and you know you look like a mess, he's a calming presence that refuses to leave your side. Once you've calmed down, he lets you hold his hand and doesn't complain, even when you can tell that you're squeezing too tight. He falls asleep in your bed a few times, and when you wake, you're never touching. You attribute this to the fact that he remembers your first freakout – when you woke up and flipped because he was still holding your hand. It makes something in your chest flutter and tighten to know that even his subconscious mind doesn't want to risk hurting you.

Life is slow, but life is nice enough. School is either intense or intensely boring, depending on the day. Toriel hasn't let you directly participate in magic school yet, but you, Asriel, and she talk about it afterwards.

You and Asriel draw together a lot. You try to stay away from drawing people, so you stick with flowers. One of your drawings turns out really nice; Asriel says that you can hang it up on the wall. You do, and you're filled with pride every time you look at it.

You often work with your buttercups, as well. Even if there's nothing to be done with them, you go down to the garden at least once a day. Asriel usually accompanies you to work on his own flowers, and Asgore comes down sometimes to see your progress.

Today, you, Asriel, and Asgore are walking down together. Asriel has asked Asgore to carry him down. His father has no objections, so Asriel is sitting on Asgore's shoulder. You're walking by their side, having to walk a little faster to keep up with Asgore's long strides.

You catch Asriel's eye. He points to Asgore's other shoulder with an eyebrow raised and his head cocked. You shrug. He gives you an exasperated look. Your lips quirk just a little bit and you nod.

"Dad, can you carry Chara too?" Asriel asks. "Their legs aren't as long as yours. We'll get there faster if you carry them."

"Hmm," Asgore says, as if he's really debating how to answer. "I suppose. Chara?"

"I'm fine with it," you agree.

He slows and picks you up gently, then sets you on his free shoulder. "Hold on," he tells you and Asriel. He picks up his pace and you're about to walk into the creepy hallway when a monster runs up in front of Asgore. You tense. Asriel reaches for your hand and you hold onto him while you watch the monster with wide eyes.

It's not that the monster is very intimidating; it's just a frog. But it still unnerves you to have any monster other than the Dreemurrs so close to you.

"Ribbit, ribbit," the frog croaks, but you understand that it's trying to say, "Excuse me, King Asgore. It has been a while since you have done your rounds through the Underground, and there are some monsters in Snowdin who would like to talk to you. We are aware that you have undisclosed family matters to attend to, but they said it would be greatly appreciated if you could come out. Ribbit." The frog sits patiently, awaiting a response.

Asgore sighs; you and Asriel move up a few inches, then go back down. "Inform everyone that I will recommence rounds later today." The frog hops away, satisfied. "I apologize, children, but it seems that we won't be able to garden together today." He turns back to the castle. Asriel looks petulant, but you're confused. Why hasn't Asgore been doing his rounds? Did the "undisclosed family matters" refer to you? You shift uncomfortably and squeeze Asriel's hand. Has Asgore been neglecting his duties as king because of _you_?

Of course, there's the chance you're simply making everything about you, and Asgore's staying at home has nothing to do with you. You sigh. Your thoughts will go in a circle if you keep worrying about it, so you try to let it go.

It's harder to not worry about it when Asgore takes you and Asriel to the kitchen table and calls Toriel out of her reading chair. They sit down and everyone looks serious. Well, Asgore looks serious, Toriel looks exasperated, and Asriel look bored and annoyed. But all of it combined it enough to make you fidget nervously. Asriel shoots you an apologetic look.

"So," Asgore begins, "I've been notified that my absence from the lives of the monsters cannot last any longer. We will need to go back to making our weekly trips around the Undergr –"

"But _Dad_ ," Asriel cuts in, "can't me and Chara stay at home? I won't be home _alone_ anymore so it's okay, right? We can be responsible, I promise! Please?"

"I am sure you would both be very responsible, but neither of you are adults, so you cannot stay home. End of discussion." Toriel's tone tells you that this argument has happened before, and it likely is _not_ the end of this discussion. Asriel lets it drop for now, though.

"As I was saying," continues Asgore, "I think it would be best if we all went out together. However, I don't want to force us all out until Chara feels like they're up to meeting new monsters." He turns to you. "Do you think you could handle being around numerous unfamiliar people at once? If not, we can wait until you are comfortable with it, or we can attempt to make arrangements for you to stay with a trusted friend while we are out."

"I'd rather go with you guys," you say with no hesitation. You are absolutely _not_ staying with strangers. You don't want to be around so many people, but as long as you stay near the Dreemurrs' side, you think you'll be okay. Right? God, you hope so. You've been doing pretty good about keeping your composure, but you're not so naïve as to think that a freakout won't happen in a stressful situation. Still, going out with the Dreemurrs is your best bet.

You go ahead and tell Asgore that you can go out with them whenever they're ready to leave. You don't want him to neglect his duties because you're whiney and needy.

"Alright then," he says. "We will set out as soon as everyone is ready. We will take lunch in Hotland, and dinner in Snowdin. If we need to, we can sleep at the Snowed Inn." You snort and Toriel giggles.

Asriel rolls his eyes. He catches your attention and stage-whispers in a scandalized voice, "Did you know that Mom told Dad about her pregnancy with me through _puns_?"

You laugh so hard that you start coughing. "Oh my f – oh my god." You regain your composure but when you look at Toriel you burst out laughing again. "Wh-what puns did she use?" you get out.

Asriel grins cheekily. "Remind me to show you the tape later."

* * *

You are wearing your best (well, only) clothes. You asked Toriel to brush you hair. You look presentable enough. Asriel is holding your hand. You're as ready as you'll ever be.

You leave the Dreemurrs' house behind, in its perpetual state of twilight. Toriel and Asgore walk ahead of you, and Asriel seems a little bit less irritable now that you're coming along. At first, you don't see anyone around, but you soon realize that there are buildings on either side of you. A few monsters stop to talk to Asgore, while others actively seek out Toriel. Most of them ignore you and Asriel; some stare at you, a few wave, but luckily no one approaches you.

After Asgore and Toriel have talked to a few people, you notice a word floating around in people's conversations: "human."

That word obviously makes some folks uncomfortable and wary. They look at you with new, untrusting eyes, as though you'll suddenly start trying to slaughter them. You know it's not directed at you as a person – just at you as a human – but it still makes you frown. You understand their stance, but you're not _like_ those other humans. You've always held an undeniable contempt for humanity, and since you met the Dreemurrs that feeling has only intensified. You don't mind the monsters hating humanity, but you don't like the fact that they're lumping you in with the rest of your contemptuous race.

After that short break, you begin moving again. Your pace is slow, at first, but once Asgore and Toriel have talked to most of the people in the area, they speed up. Toriel glances back to check on you, sending you a quick smile that you don't even have time to considering returning before she's looking ahead again. You're all moving quickly; Asriel is more in front of you now instead of by your side. There are so many monsters around, too many, and they're all brushing up against you. You brush off the spots where they touch, but it doesn't really help. You grimace. You're so distracted that it takes you a moment to realize that Asriel's hand is no longer in yours.

You stop dead in your tracks. Your hand opens and closes, once, twice, again and again, as if you could will Asriel's hand to appear. Your next breath is shaky, but you breathe out more steadily. You glance all around you. You can't see them – the crowd is too thick and despite the king and queen's height, you can't see them anywhere; there are too many tall monsters and buildings in your way. But it's fine! You're sure that you'll be able to find them. There aren't _that_ many people, right? You turn in what you're almost positive is the correct direction and begin walking purposefully.

Some of the monsters move out of your path. Most don't bother to. You're getting bumped and jostled in the crowd and you can feel your hands shaking. Your sweater is keeping you warm, but you still feel a shiver go down your spine. You need to find Asriel.

You start walking faster. It just makes more monsters bump into you. There's so much noise, and everyone's talking and touching you and your skin tingles. You scratch your arms lightly, trying to focus on something, trying to calm down, but it doesn't work. If anything, it makes the knot in your chest grow tighter and tighter. You walk faster and faster until you're running. You don't know if you're going towards the Dreemurrs at all; you just know that you need to get out of the crowd.

You're not running towards anything. You're running away.

When you break out of the crowd, it feels like you can breathe again. You run behind a bush and crouch down. They'll come looking for you. He'll come looking for you, and he'll find you, and he won't let go of your hand again. He won't mess up. You won't mess up. He'll find you.

You hear a noise behind you and start. Your arm jerks out, and you feel a lot of things happen at the same time.

You realize that the noise was made by a monster you've never seen before – it's small, and it can fly. The feeling that you notice when Asriel and Toriel fight overwhelms you, and you realize that you're _in_ a fight. You know that you should act and talk your way out of this situation, but terror keeps you from doing anything.

The monster lets loose an attack. You dodge like your life depends on it, which it probably does. This thing will hurt you; it's not like a monster would start out with its strongest attack, so the longer this goes on, the worse it will get. It will hurt you – your breathing is coming too fast; you won't be able to dodge forever – and _talking_ _never works._ This monster will hurt you, and you don't want to be hurt; you're finally doing better, and you _refuse_ to let _anything_ hurt you if you can help it.

Talking won't work.

You lash out, hitting the monster right in its midsection. You expect the flying monster to fall or flee. You don't expect it to dissolve into dust with a pitiful squeak.

…

The battle is over. You won.

You stare blankly, uncomprehending, at the residual white powder coating your knuckle. You are not sure what happened. You don't know what's going on.

( _"C'mon, Mom! I'm fine – look, no dust!" Asriel had said._ )

Dust. You don't just have dust covering your hand. You have the monster equivalent of blood on you.

A laugh forces its way out of your throat.

You – what? You just killed a monster. You just killed a monster! _You just killed a monster in cold blood!_

They were all right – your mother, your brother, all the adults and all the kids, even those monsters who were judging you for being a human. You fall to your knees, laughing and laughing and laughing. You cross your arms across your chest while your body convulses. You laugh. You feel like you're going to vomit. You laugh and cough and laugh and feel your eyes start to water.

You're a killer. You're a murderer! All you ever do, _all you ever fucking do,_ is hurt people! You hurt everyone; you ruin people's lives, and now you've ended one, like they all knew you would. Devil child! Evil! You laugh. Evil eyes, evil smile, evil deeds, evil thoughts, evil appearance! Worthless – less than worthless. You laugh. _Less than worthless!_

You fall forward so that your face is touching your knees.

What have you done?

 _What have you done?_

When will you stop hurting people? You've killed two poor creatures, first your unborn brother, then this pitiful monster; you've constantly hurt your brother and your mother; you've even hurt Asriel – _Asriel_. Asriel _will find you._

You sit up, breaths coming hard; it's harder than ever to breathe. You have a stitch in your side. You look at your hands again. Your shoulders shake. You wipe your trembling hands in the grass. You look at the pile of dust; a corpse. You need to leave.

It takes you over a minute to get to your feet. Your knees are knocking together and your legs refuse to hold your weight. You dig your nails into your neck, scratch down to your collarbone. You can feel your chest puffing in and out, continually pumping air – life – into your body. Not that you deserve it. Not that you deserve _anything_ other than pain. He always said that, didn't he? Evil boy, devil son; you deserve to feel the pain that you inflict on others just by _breathing_. You scratch at your neck as though you could make your body stop, make it just leave you be, leave you to die.

Your feet finally start to move. You don't know in what direction. You don't know where you're going.

You're not running towards anything. You're running away.

You see the crowd coming back into view. You slow down, but your breathing doesn't. You look at your shaking hands again, afraid that they'll somehow see what you did – they'll look at you and _know_ that you've been deceiving them because you're really an evil human who hurts and hurts and hurts _everyone_.

"Chara!"

You turn on your heel, eyes wide. Your fists clench to prevent yourself from scratching your neck again.

"Chara, oh my gosh, where were you? I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were gone, oh gosh; we've been looking for you! Where were you?" Asriel looks frantic. He grabs your hands and his eyes look over you like he's looking for injuries. You almost laugh. _You're_ not the one who needs his worry. You don't deserve it.

"Asriel? Did you find them? Oh – Chara!" Toriel runs into your line of sight. "My child, we should have kept a closer eye on you. I am so sorry." She looks you over and decides that you apparently need to be somewhere else. She gathers you in her arms.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck._

Your throat constricts. You – you're – she's – _god_ – fuck – _no no no no_.

You push on her chest harder than you need to. She pulls away immediately. She looks hurt – of _fucking_ course she does; you're an insensitive _bitch_. You can't breathe. You can't speak. She's asking what you need, and all you can do is shake your head no, no, no. You back away. You don't need anything because you're overreacting, you know you are. You don't need anything because you don't deserve anything – you know you don't.

You cross your arms and hunch your shoulders. Asriel and Toriel are both looking at you, in all your terrible self-pitying uselessness. You need to calm down, and stop drawing so much _damn_ attention to yourself, so that they'll stop looking at you like that.

You make a conscience effort to breathe in, deep and slow. You try not to think about any of the other monsters – _any_ of them – and just focus on the Dreemurrs. They're here, they're trying to help, and they don't know how bad you are. They're stable, they're here to help, and they don't know about all the bad things you've done. They haven't left you yet; they came looking for you! They don't want you to run away, as badly as you may want to.

Once you're sure that you won't start hyperventilating again, you reach for Asriel's hand out of habit. He's there immediately. You squeeze his hand too tight but he doesn't complain. You focus on how still his body is, how soft and unmoving and _there_ his presence is. You keep moving your fingers and toes, but other than that, you try not to fidget too much.

It helps more than it should.

Asriel asks you what happened, and you just say that you got lost and you got scared and had a freakout. Toriel frowns when you say that.

"Chara, that is a fairly derogatory term to use for your panic attacks." She doesn't look mad, or even particularly disappointed, but you still shift uncomfortably.

You haven't let go of Asriel's hand, so you run your thumb over the back of his hand as you speak. "Well…I mean, that's what it is. I freak out over nothing." You shrug. "Does it really matter what I call them? It means the same thing. If you don't like it, though, I'll try changing it."

Toriel wrings her hands. "Oh, well, I do not want to make you change the way you speak, but it might not be beneficial for you to refer them as such. Remember that they are not your fault and do not reflect on you as a person."

"Okay," you agree easily enough. Even if your freakouts – _panic attacks_ – aren't representative of you, there are plenty of other terrible things about you that are. But you don't need to tell them about those.

Once you feel like you're not going to break down again, Asriel leads you by the hand over to Asgore. He's talking to a small group of monsters, but extracts himself once he sees you coming close. The look of relief on his face almost has you doing a double take. Even now, it feels weird to have a dad looking after you – worried about you. A whole family worried about you.

Asgore goes though the same questions – where were you, what happened, are you alright? – but Asriel answers for you, which you appreciate greatly. Then Asriel does something that you don't expect.

"Hey Dad, can me and Chara ride on your shoulders like we did on the way to the garden?" he asks excitedly. You blink at him.

Asgore, though, immediately says, "Of course!" He lifts you up first, then sets Asriel on the other side. Asriel smiles at you, looking so pleased that it borders on smug. You roll your eyes at him, but smile too.

It's easier to interact with the monsters when you can see _everything_. You're higher than everyone else, and you know that you won't get lost again. You feel like none of the monsters on the ground can hurt you. You feel safe, but more than that, you feel strong. You frown. Why…why do you feel so much stronger? You feel like it would be easy to…

Asriel's laugh pulls you from your thoughts. You follow his gaze to see that some of the monsters on the ground are making silly faces up at you two. They seem to expect a reaction, so you smile. They all seem inordinately pleased with this response. Ever since the incident with the mirror, Toriel has encouraged you to smile, saying that it doesn't look weird to monsters one bit. You believed her, but it's still odd seeing such an overtly positive reaction.

When you catch Asriel looking at you, you stick you tongue out at him. He wrinkles his nose and turns away in mock indignation.

"Play nice, children," Toriel admonishes.

Asgore chuckles; you have to hold onto his horns to stay balanced. Asriel's equilibrium is not as steady, and he falls from Asgore's shoulder with a small shout. Toriel catches him with no hesitation, but he's still shaky.

They let you pretend like he's the reason they decide to go home instead of finishing their journey. Another day, they say. You pretend like you don't appreciate the gesture.

* * *

Toriel lets you both have the day free of any school work or chores. You and Asriel end up in his room most of the day, except for dinner – after which Toriel orders you both to go take a bath. You go first, and find yourself lying alone in Asriel's room while you wait for him to get back.

You're thinking about the monster. _That_ monster. You learned, from Asriel, about a few types of monsters in New Home. Whimsun, Froggit, Moldsmal, Loox. All are fairly non-threatening, from what he'd said. You weren't sure how to feel about that. You, personally, believe that anyone – or anything – can be dangerous if the situation is right. So just because Asriel, a monster prince who can use magic, sees something as not dangerous, that wouldn't necessarily mean that the same monster couldn't be dangerous to you, a human whose only skill is dodging. And, apparently, punching.

You frown. It's not that you don't regret what happened with the Whimsun, but it's…well, looking back on the situation, it's hard to feel that same _badness_ that you do when you burden the Dreemurrs. There were tons of other Whimsuns all around New Home. From what Asriel said, you gathered that they couldn't talk, they ran away in most situations, and were akin to pests.

He didn't use that exact wording, of course; Asriel is much too kind for that. But the way he spoke of them sounded flippant. And almost a day has passed since you…hurt… _killed_ the monster. And no one has said anything! And it's not like the individual monsters have names – they're called by their species. It's not like you killed a monster named Whimsun; you just killed _a_ Whimsun. There are more, and there will keep being more Whimsuns, and so far _no one has noticed that one of them died_.

Or maybe they just…don't care? Do monsters even see death the same way that humans do? Maybe they don't see it as an end, but as a way of being "freed" from their bodies? They die, then let their dust scatter through the air as they're finally relieved of the burden of living? In that case, wouldn't you have been _helping_ the Whimsun? Not to mention, it attacked you! It _wanted_ to get in a fight – fights are dangerous, Toriel says. Fights could potentially hurt you. So for a Whimsun to attack you, of _course_ it wanted to die! You gave the Whimsun exactly what it wanted.

Not to mention the feeling of strength you'd had on Asgore's shoulders after the fight. Like you suddenly had more experience. Well, experience isn't quite the right word, but it's something like that. You felt more confident for your next fight.

Not that you _want_ to get in another battle. But you're sure, with all the monsters around outside, that it's very likely you'll have to fight someone else. And when you do, you'll be ready.

Asriel enters the room and closes the door gently behind him. He starts tip-toeing to his bed, so you say, "Boo."

He trips over his own feet and falls face-first into his bed. "Chara!" he complains above your laughter. "I thought you were asleep!"

"Whoops," you say unrepentantly.

He makes a face, but you ignore him. You go back to thinking about how you will have to know more about different monsters if you ever end up in another fight. You'll talk to Toriel about changing your curriculum to include more about monsters. And Asgore, being the king, would have to be the strongest monster in the Underground. Maybe, if Toriel won't properly teach you how to fight, you can talk to Asgore. Recently, he's been very accommodating towards you. You're fairly sure that if you explain the situation correctly, he might be open to teaching you.

You look across the room at Asriel. He needs to be stronger, too, you think. With his magic, he shouldn't have much trouble. He looks like he's already asleep, but, regardless, you whisper, "Hey, Asriel."

"Yeah, Chara?" he whispers back.

You're quiet for another moment before you say, "One day I want to be as smart as Toriel and as strong as Asgore."

You can barely see Asriel, but you can tell that he's smiling. "Yeah. Me too." He pauses. "Does that mean…that you really…want to stay with us?"

You frown slightly. "What do you mean? Why do you ask?"

"You seemed like you, like you wanted to run away earlier. It was like you were going to leave. You don't want to leave, do you?"

"I wouldn't leave you, Asriel."

"…Chara?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, Chara."

Your chest constricts, but in a different way than earlier. "I…Asriel…I…."

Asriel laughs, just a little bit. "I know, Chara. It's okay." He smiles at you. "Goodnight."

"Night, Asriel." Oddly, you feel closer to crying in that moment than you have all day.


	11. Sanguine

**sang' uine - adj., cheerful, optimistic, positive**

* * *

The morning of the day after your…"adventure" around the Underground, you wake up. Not that that in and of itself is unusual, but it _is_ weird that you actually feel well-rested. You didn't have a nightmare last night; hell, you didn't even have a dream. You spent the entire night just _sleeping_. You feel a smile pull at your lips. And you feel ready to do _something_.

You glance over at Asriel – still asleep. You frown and roll over onto your side so you're looking straight at him. He has him mouth open and his are limbs sprawled out, only half under the covers. His mouth occasionally moves, and though you can't hear him saying anything, you wonder if he might be talking in his sleep. What would he be saying? Is he dreaming? What would he dream about? Monsters _do_ dream, don't they? Your curiosity doesn't dim the longer you lie in silence. You start shifting. Should you get up on your own, or wake Asriel up? You sigh. It makes Asriel turn his head in your direction. You both lie still for a moment, and then his lips move again. You can't take it anymore; you quietly slide the covers off you and stand up. You tiptoe over to Asriel's bed. You crouch down so that your head is near his face. You wait, sitting extra still so that he doesn't wake up. After a minute of nothing happening, you sit down all the way so that you're not straining your knees.

You watch him with impatience. You wonder if he'll say anything else. You hope that he doesn't wake up and see you sitting there, watching him. It would be creepy and he would probably freak out. Then again, his reaction to that might be kinda funny. You grin imagining it. He would probably jump out of the bed! It would be like last night; Asriel gets scared so easily that just you sitting there would make him jump.

 _Or_ you could do something else.

You have been sitting on the floor for long enough, and it's apparent that nothing else is going to happen. You slowly stand up to where you have to look down at Asriel. This is going to be _hilarious_. You stand still for a moment, letting the tension build. You grin in anticipation, then you stretch out your arms and hit Asriel's sleeping form.

"Ahh!" you yell.

" _Ahhh_!" he squeals, shooting upwards and flailing. He sounds like a goat, and it's even funnier than you thought it would be. He clutches his chest, breathing hard, eyes wide, while you bring your own hand to your chest and bend over from laughter. He makes a strangled noise. "Oh-my-gosh, oh-my-gosh, oh-my-gosh, _Chara_!"

You're sitting on the floor with your head thrown back. His face! That was the funniest thing you've ever seen! He looked so – so _hilarious_!

"Chara!" Asriel says again. "W-what was that?!" He hurriedly slides out of bed and sits near you on the floor, a pensive look on his face and his arms crossed.

"I was waking you up," you say between giggles.

"B-b-but you – you – just – _what_?" Asriel looks incredulous.

You let out one last puff of air, still grinning. "C'mon, Asriel, don't be weird about it!" You pretend to check your finger nails. "'Sides, how else was I supposed to get your lazy butt out of bed?" you ask nonchalantly.

Asriel continues to splutter for a moment before he says, "Any way but like _that_! You scared me, Chara; your voice was loud, and your face was really creepy!"

You feel your grin falter and drop. Asriel notices.

"Oh, no, it wasn't your smile! I like your smile!" he quickly amends. "But it wasn't _like_ your smile; your eyes were, like, really wide –" He widens his eyes as much as he can – "and your smile wasn't like _this_ ," he says, smiling in example, "it was like _this_." He shows his teeth and, combined with his big, round eyes, it does look a little weird. But you snort anyway and shove his arm.

"Whatever," you say with a shrug, trying to act like you don't care. Now that you think about it, of course your smile was unsettling to him. Hell, you wouldn't want to wake up to that face either, so you can't really blame him

He sighs in exasperation. "Argh, I'm not talkin' about your _smile_ , Char. Try doing the face again, the one you made when you were scaring me."

You roll your eyes and act like you're not going to do it. Just when Asriel opens his mouth to say something else, you shout, "Boo!" and bring up your arms (because, honestly, you're not one to pass up an opportunity).

"Ahhh!" Asriel shrieks, falling back onto his elbows. Then he giggles. "Yeah! See, see, that was it!" Looking surprisingly enthusiastic for someone who got scared twice in one morning, he says, "That's so cool!"

You smile a little bit. Maybe your face does look a _little_ different when you're trying to scare people, if Asriel is to be believed. He hasn't had a reaction like that to you any of the other times that you've smiled. You feel a surprisingly better now that that's cleared up. But you don't say anything of that caliber.

"You're so weird," you tell Asriel.

He scrunches up his nose. "You're weird- _er_ ," he counters.

You hum noncommittally as you stand up and stretch. Asriel quickly follows suit. "Let's go get some breakfast," you say.

Asriel agrees, and as he follows you out of the room you hear him mumble "I'm _not_ weird!"

You snort.

* * *

Apparently, Asriel has now given your "creepy face" a creative and original name: "creepy face." He mentions it at breakfast while you have food (chocolate chip pancakes) in your mouth so you can't even add in your own side of the story.

He's telling his parents about this morning's incident. "So I woke up to them doing this –" he stretches out his arms, "and this really cool but also really creepy face! Do it, Chara! Show them!" He's practically bouncing in his seat. Toriel and Asgore both look amused and indulgent. You set down your fork and gesture to your mouth. Toriel chuckles. Asriel groans. "Hurry up and chew! Show them!"

You roll your eyes and swallow. You look at the adult Dreemurrs and jerk a thumb at Asriel. "I have no clue what he's talking about," you deadpan. They both glance over at Asriel, who's opening and closing his mouth in confusion. Your mouth quirks. Toriel turns her attention to you and raises an eyebrow. Your face goes blank again and you shrug. "I dunno – maybe he had a dream?" Asriel slumps down in his seat, defeated. Asgore and Toriel trade glances, but then go back to their food.

You let the silence stretch. You slide your eyes over to Asriel, but he's not looking at you; you kick his leg to get his attention. His head jerks up. You grin widely and subtly bring a finger to your lips. Asriel's expression does a one-eighty from disappointment to excitement. You tap your finger to your lips again meaningfully. He nods slightly and goes back to his food, but he can't seem to stop a smile form spreading across his face. You let your face do whatever it wants to, since it seems to automatically do your "creepy face," but now that you're really thinking about it, you can tell that your eyes are wide, and you can't stop grinning. You silently take a deep breath. You feel ready.

Toriel is still looking at her plate. You make sure your face isn't going to change, and then tap her arm, keeping your gaze trained on her face.

"Yes, Ch –? _Oh, my –_!" Toriel brings a hand to her chest as she gasps. "Oh my goodness! Oh…haha!" Her hand moves to her cheek as she breathes deeply. "Yes, that was…that was a good one. You got me, children!"

You barely hear any of this, as you're not exactly paying attention to her; you and Asriel are both laughing like crazy. You're leaning onto the table, shoulders shaking, while Asriel has his head thrown back and is leaning back in his seat. Now that you think about it, you really enjoy something about the process of scaring people; you're not quite sure why, but you like the _rush_ you get when they jump back in fear. It makes you feel almost powerful.

Asgore is watching the whole scene with confusion, throwing concerned looks at Toriel. She eventually clears her throat. "Alright, children, calm down. And, yes, I would certainly call that face 'creepy!' Hee hee."

"Ahaha! See, this is why you should just trust me, Azzy! Oh my gosh, that was hilarious!" you wheeze.

"You're right, you're right," Asriel concedes, his breathing almost as labored as yours. "Of course I trust you!"

"Now, now, children," Asgore admonishes. "Settle down and finish your breakfast, and then you two have to wash the dishes."

"Aww," Asriel groans.

You shrug and get back to your pancakes, still smiling. You don't mind doing chores, honestly. You like fixing things – whether it's flowers, food, or dirty plates. "I can do it all if you want me to, Az," you offer.

"No, it's fine, I'll – w-wait a second, did you just call me 'Az'?" he interrupts himself.

You open your mouth and then close it. "I mean, well, you called you me 'Char' this morning," you counter.

Asriel's eyebrows pull together. "Did I?"

"Yeah, you did," you say adamantly. "You called me 'Char,' so I can call you 'Az,' right?"

Asriel laughs. He sits up straight and makes a snooty expression. "Sounds positively wonderful, Char," he says in a sophisticated voice.

"Absolutely delightful, Az," you agree in the same manner.

You're only able to keep a straight face for a moment before you both break down into giggles again.

"You're so silly," Asriel comments.

"You're silly- _er,_ " you say, imitating his words from earlier this morning.

You expect Asriel to say something in indignation or annoyance, but he just smiles. "Sure am," he agrees casually. "I'm silly and you're weird."

You huff. "You keep telling yourself that," you say, standing up to take your plate to the kitchen sink.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" he calls after you, standing and taking his own dirty dishes. "No, seriously, what does that mean?"

You grab his plate out of his hands. "It means that you're silly _and_ weird, and that _I'm_ doing the dishes."

Asriel looks conflicted, but after a brief internal struggle, he shrugs and smiles. "More crayons for me, I guess."

* * *

Later, after you and Asriel have finished an intense game of hide-and-seek and you've all eaten lunch, Toriel pleads a headache and goes to lie down. First, though, she has a stern talk with Asgore since, as she's unavailable, he's going to be your substitute teacher for the day.

You walk down to the garden (since it's a magic day) with a little spring in your step. So far, today has been much nicer than yesterday. It's a welcome change of pace, in your opinion.

Asgore talks easily and casually with the inhabitants of New Home, telling them that he will be sure to make his way out to Snowdin soon, and will be bringing his "whole family" with him. When he says that, Asriel giggles and slips his hand into yours. You smile but don't comment on anything.

But then you feel a little petulant. You don't really feel like you're ready to go out again into the rest of the Underground, surrounded by unfamiliar monsters who will all judge you for being a human that lives with the Dreemurrs. You glance at the monsters that are walking on the side of the road warily. What will you do if another one tries to fight you? You might be able to reason with some of the monsters, but if _they're_ getting into a fight with _you_ , then why would they want to end an encounter peacefully?

You feel Asriel squeeze your hand. You disguise a laugh as a scoff. "You're so protective," you mumble. He just hums in response. The silence stretches for a moment, then you say, "Hey, Asriel?"

"Yeah?"

"You guys have to walk around the Underground fairly often to do 'royal family' stuff, right?" He nods. "Well, d'you think we could convince your parents let us stay home alone? Not every single time, but sometimes. I mean, maybe I'm being paranoid and overreacting, but I'd like to have a backup plan if I ca – don't want to go out at the last second, for whatever reason; like, if I don't feel like being around other people. I don't want to make you guys reschedule a whole trip or something because of me," you finish with a shrug.

Asriel moves his thumb over the back of your absently while he thinks. "First off, you know that none of us really mind about that rescheduling thing, right?"

"Sure," you reply, not taking his words to heart.

"But other than that…I would _love_ to be able to stay home alone!" His voice is lowered, but you can see the excitement in his eyes. His good mood is contagious and you find yourself smiling. "We could play wherever in the house that we want to – we could play in the _living room_ and be as loud as we want! Oh, that reminds me, Chara; I meant to tell you about –"

"Asriel?" you hear Asgore call. You look up to see that he's far ahead of you, standing at the entrance to the creepy hallway. "Chara? Are you coming? I need to show Tori that I am a responsible teacher, and then maybe she'll let me do this more often!"

Asriel laughs and speeds up. You have to drop his hand as you and he jog to Asgore. "Mom says that you get gardening and she gets school. I dunno if she'd give you _everything_."

"Hmm, then perhaps I could be your permanent teacher, and you could garden with your mother?" Asgore says jokingly.

Asriel's nose scrunches up and he shakes his head. "Huh-uh. Mom is so boring in the garden! She barely even does stuff with the flowers; she just reads books. You're more fun."

Asgore sighs in mock resignation. "Ah, well, I cannot abandon my duties. I will be stuck as a gardener."

"'Stuck,' he claims," you mumble.

Asriel hears you and laughs. Directing his words at you, he says, "Yeah, Dad's weird about gardening sometimes. He acts like it's a chore, but we all know that he loves coming down here. Mom has said that, if he could, he would move his bed out to the garden and sleep with the flowers."

You laugh, but the noise quickly tapers off when you enter the unnerving orange hallway. You grab onto Asriel's hand again and drag him forward slightly to get him to pick up the pace. Your speed has caught you up with Asgore, so you ask, "What's the purpose of this place?" It's only after you've spoken that you realize your voice is only just above a whisper.

But Asgore must hear you regardless because waves away the question. "There are many old tales and legends surrounding it, but none of them are very practical." He pauses for breath, and if you hadn't been watching him, you wouldn't have noticed the way his eyes widened for a moment and his gait stuttered. As it is, he's back to normal so quickly that you wonder if you imagined it, though you don't think you did. "Actually," Asgore continues, "remind me and I will tell you about it later, Chara. I think you would find it very interesting."

Something about the way he says it has you rolling your shoulders, as though in an attempt to casually shake off an unwelcome adult's hand.

Thankfully, the next moment, you enter the garden.

Asgore says, "Chara, Toriel told me that you usually stay by the sides while she practices with Asriel, right?"

"Yep," you reply, already making your way over to the edge of the cleared area. You take a seat and turn to watch them. Asriel is getting in his position. Asgore nods at you and makes his way to where he's standing across from Asriel.

You can feel when the battle starts, and you shiver. Weirdly, you're not as averse to this feeling as you were when Toriel and Asriel fought. You take a moment to wonder why, but your thoughts are quickly drawn to the fight going on in front of you when you see Asgore let loose an impressive attack – a circle of fireballs that closes in on Asriel, who is barely able to dodge it. Asriel retaliates with an attack where a shower of stars spreads out across the area, fading just before they reach you. Asgore dodges easily, and sends back a similar attack – but instead of stars, he uses fireballs; he's able to maintain his attack for a noticeably longer amount of time than Asriel was.

Their battle is certainly interesting. Asgore is _strong_ – his attacks have you gasping at their intensity. Toriel seemed to be holding back when fighting Asriel, if only a little, but Asgore has no such qualms. Asriel, though he seems to be adept at dodging, isn't always able to avoid Asgore's attacks. Every time Asriel gets hit by one of Asgore's attacks, you have to hold yourself back from running in to stop the battle. Even though Asriel seems to be having fun, you feel your hands balling into fists because of your nerves the longer it goes on. When Asriel gets hit full-on with one of Asgore's attacks and stumbles, you see a scratch on his hand; the fur around it is dusty.

"Stop it!" you yell impulsively, standing up. You can immediately feel the "battle mode" around the two of them drop. You sprint over to Asriel. You have no clue what to do, so you just grab onto his uninjured arm and put your other hand close to, but not touching, his injury. "Asriel, what the hell?! Are you okay?" you demand. Without waiting for a response, you turn to Asgore. Your angry words for him die in your throat when you realize what you're doing; you were about to _yell_ at an _adult_. Asgore looks at you with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't look mad, but he does appear to be waiting for an explanation.

"Chara, I'm fine," Asriel says. You look at him and notice that his cheeks are pink and he's avoiding your eyes. "It's just a scratch; no big deal," he continues.

"But – but –" You point as his arm. "You're bl – you're hurt!" you say incredulously.

"I'm fine! I'll just grab something to eat after school," he says, sounding embarrassed.

You feel some of the tension in your muscles fade away. That's right – monster food can heal injuries; how could you forget? Otherwise, you'd have a lot more trouble hiding the scratch-marks that regularly cover your arms.

You breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll go grab you something right now," you say decisively. You ignore Asriel's half-hearted protests and make your way out of the garden, not looking at Asgore. You run through the hallway and the street as fast as you can. Some of the monsters stare at you. You think you even hear a few call out hesitant greetings, but you don't slow down.

You take the steps to get into the house two at a time. You pause to catch your breath when you reach the top of the stairs, but only for a moment. You walk into the kitchen and look around. There's nothing sitting out, so you open the fridge; you mostly see food that needs to be cooked to be eaten, but in one of the lower drawers, you find a couple of lone candy bars. You hesitate on whether or not to take one, but decide that it's your best option.

Once you're down the stairs, you thank whoever's listening that you didn't draw Toriel's attention. You don't want her to tell you that you're overreacting, even though you know that you are. You're sure that Asriel will be fine, but you _really_ don't want to see him hurt, even if it's just a scratch. You make your way back to the garden at more of a jog than a dead-sprint. You try to keep your eyes on the road ahead of you, but you catch them wandering over to some of the weirder monsters in your peripheral vision. You catch one such monster looking at you. It reminds you of a dog (or maybe a cat?) and appears to be grinning at you. You smile at it, hoping that it will stop looking at you with such intensity. Instead, it walks up to you.

You almost panic and run back to the house before you remember that you're on a mission. You need to get the food in your hand to Asriel. You stumble and slow down from a jog to a walk, but you keep moving forward. The monster by your side walks along with you. You swallow audibly. Should you say hello to the monster? Should you ignore it? Which one would be worse? What the hell are the rules in this situation?

Your dilemma is solved for you when two more monsters walk up to you. They're both…well, they look like bipedal dogs, and they're standing very close to one another. You're unsure of how you would tell a monster's age without asking, but you get a young adult vibe from these two. The one on the right is more feminine, while the one on the left is more masculine.

"Hello…human," the more masculine of the two begins hesitantly. When your only reaction is to continue staring at them both, it continues speaking with a little more confidence. "Sorry about Temmie – she's weird around strangers. Oh! I'm Dogamy, and this is Dogaressa."

You clear your throat, trying to keep both Temmie and the other monsters in your line of sight at all times. "Hello. I am Chara," you say, speaking slowly to keep your voice steady. "I am on my way to the king's garden right now," you add in the hope that they'll let you continue on your way.

"You smell odd," the feminine one says suddenly. You blink at it. "But not in a bad way or anything. Do all humans smell like you do?"

"I am not sure, but I need to go to the garden," you repeat.

"Oh, sorry," the dogs say in unison. The one on the left adds, "Bye, then!" They make their way back into the town, arms linked.

You turn away from the monsters and continue walking to the garden, thinking that's the end of that. You rub your eyes, feeling abruptly tired.

You jump when you hear a weird-sounding "Bye!" from behind you. You turn to see that Temmie is standing in the middle of the street expectantly. You wave at her and say, "Goodbye." She runs away, elated.

That…was probably one of your stranger experiences so far in the Underground.

You sneeze twice (you look around for a source, and are left at a loss; you hope you're not getting sick) and take a moment to collect your bearings. Luckily, you are able to make it to the corridor without any more monsters coming up to you for a chat. You do get the feeling that a lot of them are more relaxed, though, now that you've proven yourself to not be a murderous human. You almost laugh at the thought.

By comparison, the hallway is a breath of fresh air. God, you _hate_ interacting with strangers. Conversation is always so awkward and stilted, and it didn't help that you were half-expecting the conversation to become a battle at any moment. Still, though, you don't linger in the corridor, and make your way into the garden as quickly as you can.

Asgore and Asriel are sitting across from each other in the middle of the garden, talking. Asriel sees you first and his face lights up for a moment before it turns sheepish again. Asgore turns to look at you, too, but you can't tell what he's feeling just by looking at his expression.

Once you reach them, you hand Asriel the candy bar with a cursory, "Eat." You take a seat next to him and lean slightly into his side.

"Thanks, Chara, but that was really – I mean, I didn't really – you, you didn't have to do all of that," Asriel says as he tears the wrapper and takes a bite of the food.

You hum noncommittally and give yourself a moment to catch your breath. All of your running, combined with those monsters coming up to you, has you exhausted. You rest your head on Asriel's shoulder and feel your eyelids close. "I do not want you to be hurt."

Asriel lets out an amused huff. "You sound like Mom," he says.

You scoff. "Nuh-uh." You open an eye when you hear Asgore chuckle. He smiles at you, and you mirror it. You're not quite sure _why_ he's smiling; you're just relieved that he's not angry at you.

"Well, _now_ you don't," Asriel says. He moves his head, trying (and failing) to look at your face without pushing you off of his shoulder. "Why are you so tired?"

"I'm a little out of breath," you admit. "I was running a lot. And then some monsters came up to me in the street."

"Are you alright?!" Asriel almost yells. He sounds disproportionately worried. "Did they hurt you? What happened?"

You roll your eyes and lift your head up. Why is so concerned that monsters might hurt you? "Nah, I'm fine. It was just unexpected, y'know?"

"May I ask who it was?" interrupts Asgore. "What did they want?"

"There were three of them in all – first this, uh, Temmie, and then…Dogamy and Dogaressa, I think? I might be saying that wrong." You shrug. "I have no clue what Temmie wanted – she just walked up to me out of nowhere – but Dogaressa told me that I smelled 'odd.' Then they all left. It was really weird." Your short story ends with you sneezing again, which you feel just adds to the "weird" factor of the whole thing.

Asriel giggles. "Temmies do that sometimes. They like meeting new people, I think. The Dogi probably wanted to apologize for her."

Before you can ask, Asgore says, "'Dogi' is how we collectively refer to Dogamy and Dogaressa."

You frown. "Wait, aren't monster just called by their…type, or species, or whatever?" You run a hand through your hair, deep in thought. "For that matter, why are you guys different, too? Is it because you're the king and queen and…prince?" It's almost uncomfortable for you to think about the fact that Asriel will be a _king_ one day, so you focus on your question. Your gaze switches between Asriel and Asgore as you await an explanation.

Asgore takes a deep breath and replies, "The answer to that is both very simple and fairly complex. You see, Asriel, Toriel, and I – we are referred to as 'boss monsters.' Truthfully, there is not much distinction between boss monsters and regular monsters, aside from two key factors, both stemming from the fact that we have 'special' souls. Firstly, we only age when our offspring does. It is why bosses have been ruling over the monsters for generations; with the way we age, it is likely that there will always be at least one boss alive. Additionally, since bosses can go for a very long time without having children, they tend to be much, much older than regular monsters, and thus more experienced and wise."

You see Asriel cover a yawn and gather that he's heard all of this before. You have to hold back a yawn as well – not because you're disinterested in what Asgore's saying, but because you're still pretty tired.

"What about Dogamy and Dogaressa? Are they boss monsters too?" you ask.

"Hm, this is where it gets a little tricky. For monsters like the Dogi, there _does_ seem to be a correlation between their age and the age of their offspring, though it isn't as clear-cut as it is with us boss monsters. Most people call them 'mini-bosses,' but I am not a fan of that term; I think it sounds rude. I'm trying to get more people to call them 'half-bosses' or 'semi-bosess,' but old habits die hard, I suppose," Asgore finishes with a shrug.

You're about to reply when you hear a vibrating sound, and Asgore pulls his phone out of his pocket, not even bothering to check the screen to see who's calling. "Hello?...Yes, we are just finishing up…I think they enjoyed it! Did you have fun with me as your teacher?" Asgore asks the two of you.

"'Course we did, Dad," Asriel says. He stands up and stretches, then holds out a hand to you. You take it, and Asriel pulls you to your feet. You sneeze and yawn at almost the exact same time. Just to add insult to injury, you feel a bit dizzy when you stand up, as well, and your vision goes dark around the edges. You make a face at your predicament. Damn, you _really_ hope that you're not getting sick.

Asgore stands as well, still talking to Toriel, and leads you and Asriel out of the garden.

It's not until you're in the orange hallway that you realize Asgore never told you the second "special" things about boss monsters' souls. He must have forgotten; you'll have to remember to ask Asriel about it later. Oh! And you'll have to ask him what he wanted to tell you when you three were walking down to the garden. You'll do it after dinner, you decide, and tune out your own thoughts as you listen to Asriel ramble on about nothing in particular.

* * *

After sneezing once at the dinner table, you silently hope that it's just a reaction to some residual pepper in the air. After the second time, you have to sniffle and rub your eyes, and you feel a sense of dread creep over you. The third time, you let an annoyed huff and set down your fork next to your barely-eaten plate of lasagna. (A part of you feels like you should be questioning how the monsters have access to pasta, cheese, sauce, and herbs that taste exactly like the food in the overworld and yet somehow have magical properties, but you have bigger problems right now; case in point, you keep fucking sneezing, and, frankly, that's bullshit.)

"Chara, are you all right?" Toriel asks. She seems to be feeling much better than she was at lunch, and you wonder if she might have caught a bug that barely affected her and passed it on to you.

You shrug in response to her question and scratch your arm lightly.

"Yeah, you keep sneezing," Asriel adds, "and you were tired earlier. Are you feeling okay?" he asks worriedly.

Before you can answer, Asgore suddenly says, "Oh! I know just what to do. Chara, would you like a cup of tea?" He looks quite pleased with himself for coming up with that idea.

Toriel sighs fondly. "Darling, you do realize that tea is not always the answer, right?"

"Well, maybe not _always_ , but _usually_ …"

"What kind of tea is it?" you ask curiously.

"I have chamomile, lemon, cinnamon, snail…" Asgore rattles off a list of at least thirteen different flavors that you forget the names of as soon as they're out of his mouth. "…to which you can add honey, milk, sugar, or artificial sweetener."

You blink owlishly. "…Can you repeat that?"

Asriel clears his throat. "Maybe they'd like cinnamon?" he suggests, looking at you for approval.

You yawn. "Cin…cinnamon sounds fine." You scratch your neck and stretch. You rub your eyes. Jeez, why are you _still_ so lethargic? You've had to run longer and faster when you were on the surface – distances that were easily much more vigorous than your little jog to and from the garden. Have you eaten enough food today? Did you drink enough water? You're almost positive that you have, on both accounts. Ever since you started living with the Dreemurrs, you've been healthier than you ever thought possible. You don't throw up after eating too much at once, and the only time you ever get physical injuries is when…well, when it's your own fault. So what gives?

You realize that everyone is staring at you. You shift uncomfortably and scratch at your collar bone. "Sorry, did I miss something?"

"Do you want anything in your tea?" Asriel asks. He purses his lips when you shrug. He glances at his father. "Milk, maybe? And honey, I think."

Asgore nods and leaves the room, heading into the kitchen to fix your tea.

You run a hand through your hair. "I'm sorry tha- _achoo!_ " You groan and rest your head on your hands. "Ugh, I'm sorry that I'm so tired and sneeze-y."

Toriel looks at you with a serious expression. "Chara, how often do humans get sick?"

You open your mouth to respond with _All the time_ , but something about the way she says it makes you close your mouth and frown. "Why d'you ask?"

She pauses for a moment. "Asgore and I…we used to live on the surface. I was decades ago, when humans and monsters still lived together. I will not pretend to be an expert on human health, but your 'symptoms' do not seem to match up with any human illness that I am familiar with. So, perhaps a better way to ask that question would be, how often do humans get an illness where they sneeze and are itchy and lethargic?"

Your eyebrows scrunch up and you scratch the back of your neck. "I…don't know?" To be fair, though, you're not very familiar with human illnesses. You would throw up, but it wouldn't be because of a stomach bug or anything else; you would get a sore throat, but it would typically hurt on the outside, on the skin – not the inside; your nose would get stuffy sometimes, or you might have trouble breathing through it, but that was usually when it was broken.

You're brought back to your surroundings when Toriel sighs. "I feared that might be the case." She raises her voices and calls into the kitchen, "Gorey, dear, do you know when Gaster is free? Is he working on anything right now?"

You raise an eyebrow at Asriel and mouth, _Gorey?_

He nods and makes a gagging motion. You snort.

Then you realize that she also said "Gaster." Isn't that the name of someone Asriel told you about? You almost hit yourself in the head – who is Gaster? Your memory is usually better than this.

"Do you really think that Chara needs to go to the doctor?" you hear the person sitting across from you ask.

You freeze. You can't go to the doctor; doctors are expensive and sometimes they ask questions that you know they want you to lie about but they never tell you exactly _which_ ones; doctors never actually do anything aside from giving you a piece of paper that your mother would just through away. And that only happened on the rare occasions when you were even taken to a doctor in the first place.

( _"Do you need to go to the doctor?" she asked you while you were cradling your left hand – three broken fingers._

 _"…"_

 _"I asked you a question and I expect a fucking answer. I expect the_ correct _answer. Do you need to go to the doctor?" she repeats, her voice rising until she's on the verge of yelling._

 _"No, mother."_

 _"Correct." She smiles. "We're having hot dogs for dinner tonight."_ )

But no, that wouldn't make any sense – they've already fed you dinner and you had a bath recently, so what would they take away if you said "yes"? Doctor visits were your mother's jurisdiction; your brother didn't care enough to get involved, so you're not going to get hit by him if you say anything that contradicts your mother's orders. Maybe she'll ban you from eating tomorrow, or the next few days? She was never stingy with her punishments, so maybe she'll take away a week's worth of dinner. Or maybe she expects you to speak up before she has to ask? But then, what will she do if you speak out of turn? She hasn't asked you a question yet so you can't say anything.

"Do you need to go to the doctor?"

You snap out of your thoughts, and, relieved to have an answer to your dilemma, you reflexively reply, "No, mother."

Your relief lasts for about one second before you realize what you said and who you said it to.

Before anyone can react, Asgore hollers, "I think he might be busy tomorrow – he told me that the Core needs to be worked on. I am not sure how long it will take. I can call him and ask him, though." He reenters the living room with a tiny teacup and plate and sets it in front of you. "If we are going to take Chara in for a check-up, it will likely have to be the day after tomorrow. Of course, that is only if my tea does not feel them better." He chuckles at his own joke, oblivious to the tension in the room.

"I – I do no think that I will need to go to the doctor," you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady. "I am sure that I will be fine." You focus your gaze on the table and take a sip of your tea, trying to pretend like your hands aren't shaking. _How could you fuck up so bad? Everything was fine! Everything was going perfectly fine until you –_

You feel someone touch your arm and you tense. You look up at Toriel and try to keep your face calm.

She's…smiling? "My child," she begins and then pauses, as though to let it sink in. You're holding your breath. "I think you should go regardless. Even thought we monsters rarely get sick, Asriel goes for regular check-ups, so I think we should take you just to be safe. I…would not want _any_ of my children to be sick."

Oh, god. Oh, god, you're going to cry. You can't even pretend like maybe she doesn't mean it in the way that it sounds like she does because you feel like she just _knows_ exactly what you're thinking right now.

You remember thinking, soon after you fell into the Underground, that Toriel could never be your mother; by extension, you assumed that Asgore could never be your father, nor Asriel your brother. You assumed that you had no hope of ever having a family. It still feels too early to tell for sure, but…You feel like, even though these monsters haven't known you for that long – not even for a month yet – they all… _really_ love you. You feel a laugh bubble up in your throat. Monsters are weird.

"Yeah, all right. I'll go to the doctor, m – I'll go." Toriel moves her hand away, her face glowing with happiness. You continue, "I really do think that I'll be okay, though. It's no big deal."

You're taking another sip of your tea when Toriel says, "I am sure that you will, my child. I just want to be sure because I love you, and I don't want you to get hurt."

A tear slides down your cheek and

Asgore clears his throat. "Ah, was…was the tea really that good?" he asks with a smile.

You let out a watery laugh and rub your eyes. "Um, yeah. It was…it was really good."

Asriel, who'd been quiet this whole time, speaks up. "Just wait until you try snail tea!" He's grinning widely, but when you smile at him too, his face softens. "I love you too, Chara." You notice that his eyes are glassy.

"I…yeah," you say. "Yeah, back at you." Asriel looks so elated that any onlookers would think he'd just won the lottery. Looking around at all the smiling faces sitting at the table, you feel like you have, too.

* * *

"Hey, Azzy," you say after you've both changed into your pajamas but before you've gotten into bed. "You remember how earlier, down in the garden, your – our – um, Asgore was talking about the differences between boss monsters and normal monsters?"

"Mhm. What about it?" he asks, making his way to his bed. You follow him.

"Well, he said that one of the differences was about how they age, and how their children age. But he said there are two reasons, so what's the other?"

You and Asriel are sitting, facing each other. He looks oddly serious as he explains. "Boss monsters' souls can persist outside of their bodies after death, even if only for a moment," he says, sounding like he's reciting it from a textbook. "The souls of all other monsters, even mini bosses, will immediately dissolve into dust with the rest of the monster." Then he smiles. "But that's nothing compared to human souls! They can just, like, _exist_ outside a human's body after they die!" He abruptly cuts himself off. "Oh, wow, that sounded kinda creepy, didn't it?"

You snort. "Nah, you're fine," you assure him. "That is pretty neat! Why do humans souls do that but monster souls don't?"

"'Cause humans have stronger souls." Asriel shrugs. "I'm not sure why, though."

You hum. "Well, that's good to know, I guess. Goodnight, Asriel," you say, starting to get up.

Before you're able to stand, Asriel grabs your arm and pulls you back down. You don't even have time to blink before you're pulled into a hug. You tense at first, but quickly relax and wrap your arms around him once you realize what he's doing. You're the first to let go, but when you do, you have a smile on your face. You pull back and have to force yourself to climb out of the bed. You had the weirdest urge to…keep hugging him, or kiss him on the nose or something, or even just hold his hand. For some reason, you feel comfortable being so much more tactile around Asriel. You adamantly push that thought away while you turn off the lamp.

"'Night, Chara. Love you," he says as you get into your own bed.

You're still so tired from earlier that you feel on the verge of falling asleep before you even close your eyes. You yawn one last time. "You too, Asriel," you reply, grinning.

You have the nagging feeling that you're forgetting something, but you decide not to worry about _that,_ either, and fish around for something else to think about. You smile slightly. You fall asleep with the sound of the name "Chara Dreemurr" bouncing around in your head.


	12. Soporific

**sop or i fic' - n., something that induces sleep**

* * *

"Oh…oh, no."

You look up when you hear Toriel's voice as she enters the living room from the kitchen. You and Asriel are sitting in the floor in front of the fireplace; you're doing a puzzle that Toriel picked out for you and Asriel is coloring something that he won't show you because he claims it will be a surprise.

"What's wrong?" you ask her when she doesn't seem like she's going to say anything else.

Toriel turns to you and you realize that she's holding her cell phone in her hand. She brings a hand up to the receiver and says, "I am sorry, my dear. We will talk about it later." She brings her attention back to her phone and walks quickly through the living room to the other side of the house – to talk to Asgore, you guess. But what about?

You glance at Asriel, and he looks just as confused as you are (though he still remembered to cover up his drawing so as not to spoil the surprise), but less concerned than you feel.

Toriel had been in the process of cooking lunch while Asgore was writing a speech that you don't know the details of, so you and Asriel were able to play in the living room without being disruptive. Toriel had cancelled school for today and tomorrow in anticipation of your upcoming doctor's appointment; though, for the record, you feel completely fine. You didn't even feel that bad yesterday! And after sleeping, you're back to normal.

Still, you'd at least somewhat gotten used to the idea of going of going to the doctor for a checkup over something as small as sneezing and being sleepy; but now, with Toriel so clearly worked up over something, you want to offer to stay home, at the very least.

"What do you think that was about?" you ask Asriel, keeping your voice low.

He frowns. "I dunno, Chara. But something really bad happened, I think. Mom wouldn't have not finished lunch unless she was really worried."

 _Toriel does take meals pretty seriously_ , you acknowledge in your head.

You sigh and turn one of the puzzle pieces between your fingers absently. "Obviously. But we need to know what _exactly_ is going on," you say, setting down the piece and standing up.

"What are you – where are you going?" Asriel asks, but follows your lead anyway.

You put a finger to your lips and, after making sure that he'll be quiet, creep over to the doorway. You can't even hear Asriel walking behind you, which both unnerves you and fills you with an odd sense of pride. You look down the hallway and see that Asgore's bedroom door is open. Checking on Asriel one last time, you light-footedly scurry down the hallway, stopping at the door to Toriel's room. You can only just make out voices coming out of the room.

"And I don't know what we are supposed to do!" Toriel sounds more flustered than you think you've ever heard her. She sounds like she's on the verge of full-on panicking.

Asriel taps your shoulder and you turn your head slightly. He points to his ear and shakes his head no. You make a face, but wave for him to follow you and take a few more steps closer to the door, so that you're standing behind a small table with a barren top. You instinctively crouch behind it; you feel Asriel do the same. You turn your attention back to whatever the hell is going on with Toriel.

"…think very highly of you, Tori. They trust you to guide them, and I trust that you can do the same," Asgore says in a calm, reasonable voice. (You get the feeling that his body language is anything but.)

"But I do not know what to _do_!" When her words apparently come out louder than she intended, Toriel sighs and continues with a noticeably lowered voice, "They are…And what about their child…? Oh, oh, no, I can't believe…He's going to be all alone."

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. What the hell are they talking about? A child is being left alone, so his parents are probably dead; that much you're following. But then, this couldn't be the _first_ time some adult monsters have died and left behind a child. Maybe the notable thing is the timing, or the way they died?

You feel something touch your shoulder and are barely able to refrain from knocking over the table. You mouth _What?_ at Asriel, trying to pretend like your pulse isn't racing a mile a minute.

His lets go of your shoulder and grabs your hand, lightly pulling you back to the living room. "I think we need to go," he whispers. "I think they're talking about –"

"They're coming!" you interrupt him. You heard the sounds of hushed voices and rustling clothes, and even if they weren't on their way out, you're not about to risk being caught.

Asriel's eyes widen and you both hurry back, as quietly as possible, to your previous positions on the floor.

"I think Mom and Dad were talking about someone who'd Fallen Down," Asriel says, rushing to get his observation out before anyone walks in on you two.

"What does that mean?" you ask, though you have a fairly solid guess.

"It's…that's what happens when you're about to die. When a monster is about to die," he corrects himself after a pause.

He seems to be expecting you to display shock or surprise, but you just nod. Your guess was pretty close; you'd assumed the monster was already dead, but from Asriel's information, it's probably only on its way out.

Before you can ask for clarification, Toriel enters the living room looking relatively more composed. "Children," she begins as she makes her way over to and sits in her chair. "I have a few things that I need to talk to you about." She directs her attention to you and you have to make a conscious effort to avoid fidgeting. She takes a deep breath. "Chara…We monsters are very different from humans." _No shit._ "I am not sure if you are completely familiar with the human concept of death –" You almost laugh. "– but simply know that, for monsters, the process is quite different. You see, we rarely…die…because of things like illness; instead, we tend to pass away from old age. When a monster is very, very old, it will lie down, and it cannot get up. This is how we know to start making arrangements for a funeral. Once a monster has…died, it will turn into dust since monsters are mostly made of and held together by magic, and once that magic has dissipated, there is nothing left to hold a monster together. I am…not positive what humans do with their deceased –"

"We bury them," you say helpfully. "Usually, at least. Some people burn them."

Toriel looks slightly taken aback but recovers quickly. "Oh. Um. Yes. Well, in our case, at a funeral, we will mourn the monster then scatter its dust on or near something that it loved in life so that it may always live on in that thing; though, the process is not always literal. If a monster loved its family more than anything else, we may scatter its dust on their house, or their doorstep instead of family members. Other common places are in the river, at the base of a tree, or on an echo flower."

Asriel sniffles and runs at his eyes with the back of his hand. Toriel looks at him sympathetically. You almost ask him why he's crying – monster death doesn't sound sad at all! And monster funerals sound so much cooler than human ones. You wonder if there's a way to make sure that you get a monster funeral when you die. What's it called again when you burn a dead body down to ashes? And then they can scatter your dust in the garden or something!

Toriel's expression somehow becomes even more somber. "Now, there has arisen a situation in Waterfall where this is…not possible. And…because of the situation, Asgore and I have decided that it would be best for him and me to go out ourselves. However, we…do not want to force you, Chara, to go to a funeral if you are in any way averse to it. So we are considering leaving you two here at home – alone."

You blink. That's it? Toriel and Asgore have to go to a funeral and you'll be staying at home alone – well, alone with Asriel. Why is she so worked up, then? That's not even that big of a deal!

"With our needing to leave on such short basis, along with our hesitance to hire a babysitter that you don't know very well, we have reached the conclusion that the best course of action will be to allow you to look after yourselves for a short amount of time. Think of it as a test run, I suppose, to see whether or not this happens again in the future."

"Toriel, dear?" Asgore says from the doorway. "What have we decided to do?" He looks tired and worn down, you think. He and Toriel must get stressed easily.

Toriel sighs. "Yes." She pauses for a moment, then stands up and makes her way to the kitchen. "I will finish lunch, we will eat, and then you and I need to leave if we want to make it to Waterfall. If you would, talk to the children, dear." After she finishes talking, you can see her shoulders slump as the resolve drains out of her.

You actually feel really bad for her – she's getting stressed over nothing if she's just worried about you and Asriel staying at home alone. You're plenty used to that! It's usually fun when it happens, too; if there's no one in the house, then you get to watch TV and grab a snack out of the fridge, if you're subtle about it. Not that that scenario was common, but you _were_ on your own numerous other times – typically after school, when you could roam around outside. Oh, maybe you and Asriel can go play in the garden!

"Chara, Asriel," Asgore says, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I trust that Toriel has explained the situation to you?" You both nod. "All right. Well then, we have a few rules to go over before Tori and I leave."

You're only _just_ able to hold back a disappointed sigh.

* * *

After a lunch, which consisted of grilled cheese, tomato soup, and superfluous rules, you and Asriel return to your position in front of the fireplace, with you working on your puzzle and Asriel beginning a new drawing (it's apparently a secret as well). Toriel and Asgore are off making "preparations" for their "departure," meaning that they need to get their shit together so they can leave you guys home alone.

"Have you ever known anyone who died?" Asriel asks after a moment. You raise an eyebrow, and he explains, "Because you know about human death and funerals and stuff, and you didn't really seem…like, bothered by what Mom said, about that funeral."

You shrug. "I'm pretty sure I must have met someone who has died. I knew about a lot of older humans when I was younger, so one of 'em has probably passed by now." You add two more pieces to the puzzle. You can tell that it's a picture of some place with running water and pretty blue flowers; you assume it's someplace in the Underground, but it doesn't ring any bells. You may have seen it at some point, but you've pretty much blocked out the entire trip you made when Dreemurrs first found you and you had to traverse the entire Underground to get home. In your defense, you weren't exactly in the state of mind to make a mental map. You continue your previous train of thought. "Death isn't really that big of a deal to humans, I guess. People die all the time in tons of different ways. If you were sad over every single one, you'd never stop being sad, so humans just don't really get sad at all."

Asriel's eyes widen. "Really?"

You shrug because, well, _you_ don't really get sad. Maybe that was a bit of an overstatement, though; you have seen lots of people get sad over the deaths of close friends and family, and you suppose you can relate to that. Not for any of your blood relatives – not for any human – but even thinking about Asriel just being hurt ties knots in your stomach.

Deciding to change the subject you say, in a voice that you resolutely hold to be _not_ whiny, "How come we can't go down to the garden when To – M–" You stumble over your words. Even though you feel like you should know what to call the older Dreemurrs, any paternal words get stuck in your throat and twist around your tongue. "– When they're not here?"

Asriel blows a raspberry to show the extent of his displeasure and express agreement with your statement. "I guess 'cause they don't want us leaving the house, even if it's just for _two seconds_ and it's not like there are even any dangerous monsters out there. Besides," he adds, puffing his chest out proudly, "I'm really strong! You've seen how good I am with magic. Even _if_ there was trouble, I could totally take on anyone who decided to mess with us!"

You roll your eyes and smile fondly. "My hero," you tease.

His expression turns bashful as his cheeks turn red. He goes back to his drawing with a mumbled, "Totally."

You snort and add a whole cluster of preemptively-pieced together pieces to the top right of the puzzle. "Not that I _need_ anyone to fight my battles for me," you continue. "I'm pretty damn tough too, Azzy. So we can take on everyone together – tag-team it, beat 'em up before they even know what hit 'em!" And honestly, that would be _socool_. Asriel might have magic, but you have experience (or something) with battling real, malicious monsters. Still, though, you know that realistically speaking, you're almost definitely weaker than him. You would need to be a monster – or be able to wield magic – to even be on par with any of the Dreemurrs. Your helplessness irks you more than you'd like to admit.

Toriel reenters the room, effortlessly carrying a bag that looks like it weighs as much as you do. It's zipped, though, so you have no clue what could possibly be inside. She takes a deep breath and says, "All right, children. Asgore and I have everything we need, and we should set out now if we want to make it all the way to Waterfall in time." She pauses, then says in a slightly faster voice, "Are both of you sure that you will be okay? It is not too late for me to call someone in, or to drop you off somewhere."

You shake your head no before she even finishes her sentence. You're not in the mood to interact with any new people, and besides, you and Asriel are going to have so much fun!

Toriel looks resigned. "Of course, of course. I am sorry. I know we already have everything planned out, but I do not want to put any undue stress onto either of you. I know it must seem daunting, being alone for so long."

"A few hours isn't _that_ long," you try to reassure her. "I've stayed at…I can take care of myself – and Asriel. I'm really mature." You punctuate you last sentence with a confident smile, which Toriel returns. You get the feeling that telling her just how often you were on your own wouldn't convince her to leave; she'd only want to stay and watch over you to make sure that you _weren't_ alone, even though sometimes you prefer it that way. If there's one childhood experience that you're not in a rush to…well, experience, it's adult supervision.

"I am sure that you are," Toriel replies. "I trust that both of you are mature enough to stay here by yourselves, which is why your father and I must be on our way. Gorey?" she calls over her shoulder.

"Right here, sweetheart," Asgore answers almost immediately. "The downstairs door is locked, as are the chains, and the keys are in the drawer of the cabinet in the hallway. Is it time to leave?" When Toriel nods, he sets down his own bag – not as big as Toriel's, but it still looks fairly heavy – and kneels in front of you and Asriel so that he's not looming. "You two will behave, yes?"

"Yes sir," you answer, trying to sound as mature as you claimed you were.

"Yeah, Dad," Asriel says at the same time. His almost flippant reply makes you feel self-conscious about your formal tone, but you disregard the thought in favor of making sure that you're sitting up straight.

Asgore chuckles. "Have fun, but be reasonable about it."

Neither you nor Asriel responds verbally, though you do feel a smile creep across your features, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Asriel duck his head to hide a smile.

Asgore laughs in response, and ruffles the top of Asriel's head as he stands, repeating, "Be good!"

"Remember," Toriel adds, "keep the door shut, keep the way out to garden locked, do not use your magic without a good reason, Asriel, and Chara, do not attempt to cook dinner by yourself because the kitchen has knives, which can be very dangerous!"

You almost point out that you use (dull) knives in the garden every day, but you refrain from arguing and simply nod in agreement.

"You may have a snack, but do not spoil your dinner. You can play with your toys, but please put them up when you are finished playing. Do not leave any crayon marks on the floor or the walls, and do not put the fire out _or_ put anything into it."

Asgore coughs. "Uh, Tori, dear? We went over all of this already at lunch."

Toriel huffs. "I am aware of that, but there is no harm in reviewing the rules."

"Mom, we'll be fine," Asriel insists. "Tons of other kids stay at home alone, and you guys won't even be gone that long."

Toriel's gaze worriedly switches between you and Asriel for a moment longer before she sighs in resignation. "All right, all right," she says, crouching down and taking a hold of both yours and Asriel's hands. "Be good, won't you?"

"Of course we will, Mom," Asriel says. You just respond by nodding your head vigorously.

Toriel smiles. "In that case, my children, it is time for your father and me to head out. We should be back in two and a half hours – three hours at most. If either of you need anything at all, simply call me, and we will be back as soon as possible; alternatively, if anything comes up on our end, I will call you. Asriel, do you have your phone?" He pulls it out of his pocket indulgently; you all know that he's always carrying that thing around, but Toriel looks relieved, if only slightly. "Well then," she continues, "this is goodbye for now."

She pulls Asriel into a quick hug and then, after you nod, she does the same for you. Once she has her arms wrapped around you, you can't even bring yourself to be irritated at her for taking such a long time to say goodbye. Your hands don't reach around her, but you try your best to hug her back. For whatever reason, she's worried about you and Asriel being at home without supervision. For the umpteenth time, you feel the urge to tell her that you've stayed at home alone many times before and _you_ turned out fine, but you once again change your mind at the last second.

Toriel loosens her grip first, so you drop your arms as she pulls back. Asgore then gives you and Asriel briefer hugs, and they pick up their bags and make their way to the front door.

"Goodbye, Asriel, Chara," Asgore says.

"Goodbye, my children. I love you," Toriel says, grabbing Asgore's hand with her free one.

"Bye! You too, Mom!"

"Bye, you too."

The door opens and shuts, and then they're gone.

You and Asriel are silent for a total of five seconds before Asriel breaks down into giggles. "Chara, Chara, Chara!" he exclaims, looking so excited that you're not sure whether or not he's going to start jumping up and down. "We can – we can – we can – what do you wanna do?!" Oh, he's jumping.

"Asriel," you say, appearing much calmer than the fluttering in your chest tells you that you are, "chill out. And," you add, grinning, "we can do _whatever we want_!"

Asriel laughs and claps his hands, then his eyes widen. "Oh! Do you, do you remember earlier, the other day, when we were walkin' down to the garden and I was gonna tell you something, something that we could do if we were home alone?" He doesn't even wait for a response before he says, "I – I have this drawing that, it's a little old, but it has a lot of good ideas!" He takes off a dead sprint to his room.

You only hesitate for a moment before you do the same. Running – in the house! This is crazy! Your hands are shaking a little bit from a combination of excitement and nerves (or your earlier nodding) by the time you slow to a stop in the middle of yours and Asriel's room. With a breathless laugh, you ask, "What d'you wanna show me?"

He's thoroughly searching the area around his bed and near the toy box, and only replied with, "Hang on a sec!"

You retreat over to your bed to wait for him to find whatever it is he's looking for, as well as to calm down a bit. Now that you have free reign of the house, nothing comes to mind that you really want to do. You hope that Asriel's idea is good, whatever it is.

"Aha!" Asriel exclaims, triumphantly holding up a sheet of paper. Before you can get a word out, he runs back out of the room and turns right, presumably heading back into the living room.

You huff out a sigh, but jump off the bed and follow his lead regardless, though at a more subdued pace. You almost bump into him when he comes barreling out of the doorway of the living room.

"Chara, come here!" Asriel says, still sounding excited. He gestures and you follow him to the rug in front of the carpet. He grabs the piece of paper that he was drawing on earlier, but stays standing. Holding the papers to his chest, he says, "Have you ever thought about what you'll look like when you're older?"

You raise an eyebrow at the seemingly random question. "I barely even think about what I look like now," you say half-jokingly. "And not really, no. Anytime I try to think about me growing up, I just…I don't know. Nothing ever comes to mind. I can't really imagine being an adult, or even a teenager most of the time." _Whoa_ , okay, that was probably a bit much. You clear your throat and smile, adding, "But I like to think that I'd be taller."

Seemingly choosing to focus on the last bit, Asriel says, "Of course you'll be taller! That's, like, half of what growing up is. That's why it's called _growing up_!" Asriel laughs at his own joke. "And, well, I think that when you're older, you'll maybe, you might look kinda like this…?" Looking hesitant, he holds out the "secret" piece of paper from earlier today, still face-down.

You grab it and flip it over. You have to stare at the paper for a good five seconds before you can react. "Asriel, you drew me?" you finally say, tearing your eyes away from the paper to look at him.

"Well, um, yeah! I thought it would be, um, cool!" He's wringing his hands nervously as he awaits your response.

You look back down at the paper. In it, you're wearing a long-sleeved green shirt with a single pale yellow stripe across the center. Your hair is a little longer than you currently have it, and your cheeks are definitely _not_ that rosy. Your limbs are a little too long, as is your neck, and your eyes are too big and you don't have a nose. You're wearing brown shorts and brown boots, and surrounding your feet is a combination of yellow and golden flowers. You're smiling.

You stare at it, taking in every detail – the dark black outline surrounding everything, the waxy texture in the places where he pressed down really hard, the way that the golden flowers aren't _quite_ right, but accurate enough to tell you that he tried his best to match your description. You look up at Asriel with a grin so wide it hurts a bit, and you can barely keep your hands still. Your heart's beating disproportionately fast, but you just feel so _excited_.

"Azzy, this is so cool! No one's ever drawn me before!" you say. "The flowers look so good, and you gave me long sleeves! Do you really have a shirt like this one?"

Asriel, looking both elated and overwhelmed, says, "I mean, most of my shirts are green and yellow! But, um, I actually don't have any shirts with just one stripe. But you just seem kinda like a one-stripe person, y'know?"

You burst out laughing. You feel so full of energy that you have to sit on the floor to calm yourself down. "That sounds so dumb, Azzy." He looks hurt, so you grab his sleeve and pull him down to where he's sitting next to you. "Aw, no, don't look sad! No need to be so sensitive, silly," you reprimand him gently.

Asriel's nose scrunches up. "Yeah, all right, sorry." He's back to normal in the next instant, grabbing the paper that he'd found in his room and holding it up to where you can see it. "This is what I think that I'll look like when I grow up!"

You grab the paper and look over it as Asriel watches, seeming a lot less nervous than he did before. In his drawing, he looks a lot taller, but he's still wearing a striped sweater. His horns and fangs are noticeably longer than the stubs he has now. He's holding a bouquet of yellow flowers in his right hand and his magic flies around the other in the form of colorful stars. His feet are surrounded by a rainbow of flowers – red, yellow, purple, orange, and blue. He's smiling, too.

You grin and give him back the paper. "This is really good, Azzy!"

He looks inordinately pleased. "You really think so? I like it, too!"

"How come your magic is colored, though? Isn't it just white?" you ask.

"Okay, so, that part probably wouldn't _actually_ happen," Asriel admits. Tracing one of the stars, he continues, "Almost everyone's magic – every monster's magic – is just white. Some monsters have specific attacks that are either blue, orange, or green, but magic mostly mana – man – _manifests_ as white. Like, Dad's told me about this one attack of his that's blue and orange, and I've never seen it, but it sounds really neat! Just imagine how cool it would be to have pretty, colorful magic!" he finishes with a smile.

You raise an eyebrow.

Asriel blinks. He opens and shuts his mouth, and then ducks his head bashfully. "Ah, I, um, I mean." He rubs the top of his head, making a patch of fur stand on end. "Um, s-sorry."

You throw your head back and laugh. You reach your hand out and smooth down his hair. "Chill out, Azzy. I mean, don't get me wrong; I would _love_ to have magic. I think that it would be _so cool_ if I could be a monster! But I know that I…I'm pretty stuck the way I am, so it's pointless to wonder about something that's impossible."

Asriel worries his lip for a moment as your words settle, but then his eyes suddenly brighten and he reaches over to grab a clean sheet of paper and a handful of crayons. He sets it in front of you and says, "Here! Draw what you think you'd look like as a monster!"

You cock your head to the side. "Why?"

"Maybe you won't be as sad about it if you can imagine what it would be like," he reasons.

You barely take a moment to dispute that logic before you shake your head, laugh, and say with a barely-there smile, "Sure, why not."

"Awesome!" Asriel says. He picks up one last picture, and clears his throat. "So those two were the ones that I drew earlier today. This one is the older one, and it's the one that I was talking about yesterday on the way down to the garden. It's, well, kinda like what you're gonna do now. If I could be _anything_ , I'd want to be super-powerful, and have really cool attacks, and wear I would be able to _fly_!" He holds up his arms to make his point. "Or, like, float or something. And, and I would look kinda scary and kinda cool, and be super good at dodging, and have really cool attacks!" He's practically bouncing by this point.

"Are you gonna show me?" you prompt him.

"Huh? Oh! Haha, whoops. Here," he says, letting you see the page. On it is drawn…is that even Asriel? You have to admit; "kinda scary and kinda cool" sums up his character pretty well. He's wearing the robe that Toriel usually wears (purple with a white design on the front), and his arms are stretched upward, making it seem like he's calling down the lightning that's striking the ground around him. The background is hectic and a little overwhelming because the sheer amount of colors that Asriel decided to use.

"Whoa," you breathe, eyes wide. "That's _so cool_!"

Asriel's face looks like it might split in half, his smile is so wide. "Thanks!" he exclaims. "It's, it's like a super king!"

You snort, grinning. "Totally," you agree, then add, "How strong is he, exactly?"

"The strongest thing in the Underground!" Asriel boasts proudly, setting the paper down so he can hold up his arms as though to call down lightning himself. "Like, stronger than Mom and Dad! And I know you're tough, Chara, but he's probably stronger than you, too!"

You raise an eyebrow.

He barely has time to gulp before you've tackled him to the ground.

"Who's tough now?" you say proudly, adjusting your arms so that they're crossed on top of his chest.

He pushes at your shoulders. "Aw, c'mon, I wasn't ready! Besides, we weren't really talking about me, dummy. Just about…Super-King Asriel."

"Well, what would 'Super-King Asriel' do in this situation?" you ask cheekily, not budging.

He struggles for another moment, then stills. He takes in a deep breath and says, "Chara Buster!" Swinging back his right arm, he uses it and the momentum it gives him to roll you off of him.

You land on your back with an _oof_. You hear Asriel giggle and feel an icy grip on your heart. Asriel just – what did he – why did he – _he hit you_. Your chest is tight and your palms are clammy. He can do whatever he wants and there's no one here to stop him. What's he going to do? Is he mad at you? Is he going to hit you again? Why did he hit you in the first place?!

He's talking, you finally realize. " – would be with a sword. Or swords. And it would go like this!" Asriel holds both arms out straight to his sides, then swings his left arm in, back out, then right arm in and back out. His motions make you freeze again. You lose track of what he's saying for a minute before you're able to tune back in. " – not call it that, obviously, but I dunno what I _would_ call it. Any ideas?" He turns to you with a questioning look.

You gulp and sit up. Your nerves feel shot all to hell, and you're not entirely sure that you're going to be able to respond.

Asriel notices your prolonged silence and worriedly says, "Chara?"

"I am not sure," you eventually get out. "Sorry that I cannot…be more helpful." Your breathing is steady – too steady. But it could be so much worse; you're not hyperventilating, you were able to speak, and your hands are firmly planted on the floor, not digging into your arms.

"What's…?" Asriel's face is suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. "Oh, gosh, Chara did I scare you? I didn't mean to! Oh no, I'm so sorry!" His lip wobbles dangerously. He looks away from your eyes toward the fireplace and, to your chagrin but not surprise, they're watery.

The juxtaposition of him moments ago versus now leaves _you_ feeling guilty as well. He was having such a good time, and then _you_ had to go and have a mini freakout. You feel frustrated tears threaten to fall down your cheeks, but you close your eyes tight to get rid of them. You open them, blink a few times, and say, "Asriel." He rubs the back of hand against his eye and meets your gaze. You sigh. "You were having fun. I didn't mean to flip out there for a second. I'm fine now."

"But – but – I – oh no, I shouldn't have hit you! It's not your fault, it's mine! I'm so so so sorry!" You abruptly realize that there are silent tears sliding down his face. He's not sobbing; he looks too torn up to shake and sniffle, instead letting his jaw continue to wobble and tears soak the fur on his face.

You feel something in your stomach twist. He looks absolutely miserable. "Shit, no, Asriel, it's all right." You move closer to him and grab his hand, holding it in both of yours. "Fuck, it's no big deal. It wasn't your fault, Azzy, it's fine, I promise."

He rubs his eyes with the hand you're not currently holding. "Are you sure that you're not mad at me? I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," you protest automatically, "you just startled me." You bite back a yawn. You suddenly feel drained. Your thoughts are scattered, too, and it takes you a second to gather your words. Asriel notices.

"Are…are you tired?" he asks, with one last sniffle. You're relieved that he seems to have recovered so quickly – as have you. You feel all right, you suppose, though you still feel weirdly tired. You blink and shrug, but he just makes a face. "You're sleepy. Maybe we should take a nap."

You make a face of your own in response. "Naps are for little kids. I thought you were ten?"

"Almost eleven!" Asriel objects. "And, well, Mom and Dad take naps sometimes. Tons of people do. And if you're tired, you should sleep because it'll make you feel better."

You scowl, but you can feel your muscles relaxing the longer you think about it. God, you're just so fucking _tired_ , so what the hell, right? It's not like you're not _allowed_ to take naps. So…so then…

You yawn again. Asriel squeezes your hand. "Chara? Are you listening to me?"

"Mmm." You allow your eyes to close, just a little bit, just for a second. It makes it even harder to focus. You allow yourself to slouch down a bit, leaning over onto Asriel and resting your head on his shoulder. "Mhm."

"Aw, Chara, you can't sleep in the floor," Asriel points out. You feel him stand up slowly, pulling you gently up as well. You open your eyes, dazed. "Here," he continues, seeing that you look like you're about to collapse, "you can sleep in Mom's chair."

Toriel's chair isn't small, but you curl up anyway. It's comfortable enough for you to easily doze off.

Asriel puts his hand on your arm awkwardly, and says "Um, I'm gonna color while you sleep, okay?"

You frown, but then suddenly get a wonderful idea. You grab onto Asriel's arm and pull him down. He stammers, but sits down next to you. "Aren't you tired at all?" you ask.

"Um, well, maybe a little," he says. "But I don't know if the chair is big enough for both of us – especially to sleep in."

"Nonsense." You pull your legs up close to your chest and lean your head on his shoulder again.

Asriel doesn't say anything in response. After a few minutes, you hear him yawn and feel him relax. His head leans down, resting atop yours. You get an ear to the face. You wrinkle your nose and move your head closer to his chest, effectively getting out of ear-range.

Your puzzle lies abandoned in the floor, along with the crayons and unused paper. You really should clean up your mess, but you're so tired and happy that you can't bring yourself to care about it. Asriel's breathing is slow and steady, and after a moment, yours matches up with his. He's so warm and soft, and you know that you're too close to him, but you can feel yourself drifting off without any worries that he'll hurt you while you're asleep and vulnerable – not even by accident. After a moment, the combination of feeling warm, safe, and exhausted leads you to sleep.

* * *

You hear whispering. You can't register what's being said, but you think you hear someone laugh. You stretch and slowly blink open your eyes.

"Oh, shush, sweetheart," you hear someone with a deep voice whisper. Asgore. "There is no need to wake them up." Toriel hums in agreement.

You let your eyes close again and curl back in on yourself. Toriel and Asgore are home, then. You put your head back on your pillow and take a deep breath. You're still exhausted, so you try to go back to sleep. No sooner has your breathing leveled out than you feel someone touch you – lifting you up.

You push away before you've even opened your eyes, but they manage to keep a hold of you. You quickly snap open your eyes, head fuzzy but alert enough, to see who's carrying you. You take in the colors before anything else. You blink, and the figure comes into focus. Toriel is looking at you, concerned. One of her arms supports your neck, and the other holds your legs. You let your body relax, confident that you're safe.

"I apologize, my child. I did not mean to wake you," she says, her voice soft and gentle.

"It's okay," you say, speaking the same volume without fully realizing it. "Where're we going?"

"I am taking you to your and Asriel's room. Would you prefer to walk?"

"No. I mean, you can carry me if you wanna. It's fine." You try not to let your stumbling answer annoy you too much.

Toriel just smiles. "As you wish."

Letting out a yawn, you close your eyes again while Toriel carries you easily down the hall. She lays you in your bed and pulls the covers on top of you and up to your chin. Her hand gently brushes your hair out of your face. You smile and bunch your hands into the top of the covers, holding it against your cheek.

"Goodnight, Chara. Sleep well and feel better tomorrow," Toriel says, barely audible.

"'Night," you reply. "You too."

You think she says something else as well, but you're too far gone to hear what it is. You feel like you're about to drift off, but you stay in an unsatisfying state between awake and asleep for a long moment before your realize that you can't fully get to sleep for some reason.

You open your eyes and frown. The room is dim, but you can see Asriel across the room. You should be able to sleep more easily here than you had in the living room; that chair was small and cramped. But despite the small size of your bed and your warm comforter, you feel like your bed is too open and cold. You suddenly get an idea. You debate the risks versus the merits for barely a second before you pull back your covers and get out of bed. You tiptoe across the room over to Asriel's bed. He's sound asleep. You push him as unobtrusively as possible, making him roll over closer to the wall. Pulling up the covers, you slide into the bed next to him. As though he realized what you'd done, he rolls onto his back. You smile sleepily and put your head on his arm and chest. His breathing is even and quiet, and you fall asleep within the minute.


	13. Vexatious

**Beta'd by the wonderful Sheridan ( sheridanblog on tumblr). All other mistakes are my own. Also, I feel like I don't acknowledge you guys very much, but thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me. I'm more active on AO3 if you'd like to chat over there!**

* * *

 **vex a' tious – causing annoyance or frustration; worrying**

* * *

Toriel wakes you up with the news that you'll have to bathe before going to the doctor. She also tells you that you can't wear your sweater because it needs to be washed.

She must see the panic in your eyes, as she quickly follows her announcement with, "You will be able to borrow one of Asriel's sweaters, my child. Is that agreeable?"

You have to hold back a grimace at the idea that you won't be able to wear your own clothes, but you nod and hurry to take your bath without protest. And once you're in, you have to admit that it's nice to be clean. You scrub your hair and run your fingers through it to get out the tangles. There are more than you thought there'd be, and you realize that your hair's getting longer than you usually let it – it's coming down to your collar bone. When you were on the surface, you would try to cut your own hair when it got too lengthy, but once your mother would see the shoddy job you'd done, she'd do it herself (always cutting it much shorter than you liked having it). You wonder if Toriel would trim your hair if you asked her. Would she even know how? You hope she'll try.

You run your fingers through your hair one last time and dry off, frowning when you realize that you don't have any clothes to change into in the bathroom. You put back on your pajamas and head over to your and Asriel's room, still wringing the excess water out of your hair.

Asriel is just pulling on his shirt as you walk in the door. "Oh, Chara!" he says when he sees you. "Mom asked me to give you this." He grabs a sweater and a pair of shorts from his dresser and hands them to you.

You frown. "Why shorts? Why not pants?"

Asriel (who, you notice, _is_ wearing pants) pulls at his shirt – shirt, not sweater. "Well, we're going to Hotland, so Mom is making us wear either short sleeves or shorts. And I figured you wouldn't wanna wear short sleeves, so I thought I'd let you wear shorts!" he explains.

It's not an optimal situation, but at least you're getting the lesser of two evils. You take the clothes from Asriel with a quick, "Alright, thanks," and go back across the hall to the bathroom to change. You put your towel and pajamas in the dirty clothes hamper without thinking, only to realize that you'll have to borrow _more_ of Asriel's clothes to sleep in tonight. You sigh, but continue on to the living room, deciding that you're fighting a losing battle – Toriel _will_ somehow wash all your clothes, whether you like it or not.

Making your way to the living room, you shake your head slightly and try to avoid thinking about shirts and shorts and other words beginning with "sh."

"Chara, do you have your shoes?" Asgore asks from the dining room table.

You're not sure whether to laugh or sigh, so you let out a long-suffering huff and shake your head in response.

"I've got 'em!" Asriel says, entering the room behind you with the aforementioned shoes in-hand.

There's a minute of pseudo-chaos where everyone attempts to finish making preparations – you're tying your shoes, Toriel is triple-checking her bag for everything that you could possibly need, Asgore is making one last phone call, and Asriel stands in the doorway asking, "Is it time to go now?"

Finally, Toriel responds to him with "Yes," and you're out the door before you realize it.

It's not cold outside. It's not hot, either. It's like the perfect equilibrium between winter and spring; there's no chill, no rain, no wind. It's nice, you suppose, but these thoughts don't stop your knees from shaking.

You not nervous – that's not quite the right word. You just don't know what to expect from this doctor's visit. You fiddle with the pockets on ( _not_ ) your clothes while you wait for Toriel to make a game plan. Asriel, standing beside you, seems to feel awkward having his hands hanging uselessly by his side and starts fidgeting, too. You suppose he feels as uncomfortable as you do.

"Alright, children," Toriel begins. "The walk to Hotland is not a long one, but we will do out best to make it as short as possible." She taps the bag she has slung over one shoulder. "I have water bottles, snacks, bandages, a change of clothes, hair ties, a hair brush, extra cell phone batteries, an extra water bottle, and a pillow. Is there anything I missed, or are we ready to depart?"

You blink. Asriel and Asgore assure her that you're good to go.

You mouth, _A pillow?_ at Asriel. He makes a helpless _What can you do?_ motion. You snort and follow the adults, Asriel trailing close behind you.

* * *

The trip is nowhere near as long as you thought it would be. You don't think you ever passed by any monsters; though, to be fair, you realize that you accidentally zoned out for most of the trip. You rub your eyes and shake your hands to bring you back to yourself, but you still feel a bit out of it. You mentally shrug. Oh, well. Nothing to be done about it now.

Asgore knocks on the door. You wonder what kind of monster Gaster is. You watch the doorway carefully; it seems to take an eternity to slide open. Then, suddenly, you're face to face with –

 _What the fuck is that._

No, seriously. What the hell? Is it – a skeleton? Ghost? Something else entirely? You know you're staring at it, but it takes you a minute to realize that _it_ is staring at _you_ , too. You feel goosebumps pop up on your arms and legs. You look away, anywhere but at that thing's creepy eye sockets.

You catch Asriel's eye and try to convey your panic to him without showing it to anyone else. Personally, you feel like you got across your main point (bewilderment) fairly well, but Asriel only looks amused. You're about to respond, but you hear Toriel say your name.

"…has not been feeling too well these past few days. We are fairly sure that it is nothing serious, but we wanted to come for a check-up just to be safe," she finishes, readjusting the strap across her shoulder.

Doctor Gaster makes an elaborate movement with his hands that ends with a beckoning motion. He turns and enters the tall building, and Toriel and Asgore follow close behind. Asriel, seeing your hesitance, grabs your hand and gently pulls you forward. You sigh in relief and allow him to lead you.

Asriel leans close to you and whispers, "Doctor Gaster talks kinda weird sometimes, but you get used to it. Since you've never met him, I'm sure he'll try to talk so you can understand him. He's not scary, I promise."

You scoff and mumble under your breath, "As if I'd be scared by a monster."

You look around the lab. It's very…scientific. It's open and airy, with a tall ceiling and plain, white walls. Pressed up against the walls are all kinds of tables and desks, covered in sheets of paper, binders, and books with worn covers and dog-eared pages. You observe your surroundings as you contemplate Asriel's words. You assume that Gaster has a speech impediment. There was a kid with one at your school. You avoided him, for the most part; he didn't bully you, and you didn't harass him. One of your closer acquaintances.

You hear Gaster clear his throat and focus your attention back on him. Oh, there's the nervousness that you couldn't find before!

"Greetings, Chara. It is nice to meet you," he says. He has a trace of an accent, somehow, though you're not sure what it is. But he seems to speak normally, as far as you can tell. He's holding his hands close to his chest, and you think that he's smiling at you. Then again, you're not sure if his expression has changed once since you met him.

You nod to him. "Hello." You pause, but when no one speaks up, you continue, "It is, uh, nice to meet you too, Doctor Gaster."

Gaster inclines his head in response. "I understand that you have not been feeling well recently. Yes?"

"Well, I – a couple of days ago, I felt bad, but I think that I feel mostly better now." You fidget nervously and glance at Asgore and Toriel, who are just standing there, watching you and listening to your responses. You can't shake the urge to tell the doctor _"I'm fine"_ with them there to gauge your responses. You know what you were supposed to do on the surface – play down how you felt because you're clumsy and _it's not a big deal, I promise, it barely hurts, Doctor._ But should you act like you feel worse than you really do, so that the Dreemurrs don't seem overreactive or paranoid? But that wouldn't make sense because the doctor could easily tell if you're exaggerating by…doing medical tests, or whatever. Telling the truth would make the most sense, but therein lies the question – how _do_ you feel?

"Could you elaborate on that, please?" Gaster's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You glance at the Dreemurrs again, who all readily away your response, and open your mouth.

But Gaster beats you to it. He makes a wide, sweeping gesture towards Asgore, and says…

You have no clue what he says. It takes you a moment to realize that he can't possibly be speaking English. And yet, Asgore nods, seemingly able to follow along with ease. Your eyes move between them like you're watching a tennis match. Asgore lets Gaster do most of the talking, so you have no idea what the conversation is about. Gaster continues to make odd motions, but those don't help your comprehension, either; they just leave you to marvel at how he went from standing still, talking slowly and properly, to rapid speech and speaking with his hands.

"And you think it will work out fine?" Asgore suddenly asks.

Gaster responds to him with a few quick, short gestures while making his indecipherable noises. Asgore laughs and nods. You glance at the other two, but both Asriel and Toriel look nonplussed. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and decide to speak up.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice coming out meeker than you meant for it to. "I can't…I don't…" You look over at Asriel and his eyes widen in understanding.

You hear Gaster breathe in sharply and turn your gaze on him. Your first thought is that he looks angry, but his posture is all wrong for that. Then you think that perhaps he looks annoyed, but that's not right either. He looks apologetic, you realize – annoyed and angry at himself, but not at you.

"I apologize for my rudeness," Gaster says. "I had said, 'Perhaps it would be better if we conducted your check-up without familial biases.' King Asgore nodded, and I continued, 'I mean no offense; I simply think that a certain doctor-patient confidentiality should always remain, if possible. Of course, we will only do this if this it is acceptable with Mx. Chara.' Asgore asked, 'And you think it will work out fine?' I replied, 'Do you not trust me?' Asgore laughed." Gaster paused, giving you a moment to catch up. "However, that last comment was said somewhat jokingly. If you are averse to a one-on-one check-up, then we will not do one. I would not force you to do one; do not worry."

Your head is reeling. You stare dumbly at Gaster, confused at how… _weird_ he's being. But one thing he said stood out. "Mx.?"

"A gender-neutral equivalent to Mrs., Mr., or Ms.," Gaster explains. "If you do prefer something else, I –"

"No!" you blurt. "I – I mean, I do like it. It sounds cool." Your cheeks flush when you realize that you just rudely interrupted him. "Sorry."

Gaster waves your apology away. "There is no need to be. To be fair, I should have asked you first before making any assumptions, regardless." He nods at the Dreemurrs and says, "You may go up the stairs to your right. Make yourselves comfortable, please."

You watch Asriel ascend with his parents, giving you one last wave before he's out of sight.

Gaster says, "Chara, is this arrangement more agreeable?"

You shrug, not meeting his eyes. You're not quite sure, honestly; while you're glad to have gotten rid of the feeling of hovering parents, you're now alone with a stranger, which is very rarely a good thing.

"Take a seat, please," Gaster continues, leading you to a table that's not pushed up against a wall and pulling out a chair for himself. You sit, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater while you wait for him to continue. "I am W.D. Gaster." He looks at you expectantly.

"I am Chara," you obligingly reply, albeit confused. You're not quite sure what he's doing, but he seems to want to restart your conversation. Though, still, you're not sure _why_.

Gaster nods. "I use he/him/his pronouns, though if you would prefer to use they/them/theirs or it/its, I am fine with either." He pauses again.

You clear your throat. "I, um, I don't…really like he or she. Or it. Um, most people use they…they/them/theirs when they talk about me, and I like it when they do that." You're still too nervous too look him in the eye, so your eyes wander over the desks and tables around you. You bite your lip nervously. Was that okay? Was that what he wanted you to do?

Gaster appears to be about to say something, but seems to change his mind. "And you are comfortable with those pronouns?" he checks.

You nod.

Gaster does the same. "Thank you for sharing. Now," he continues, grabbing a clipboard from somewhere on the table in front of him, "how are you currently feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," you say with a noncommittal shrug.

"And how were you feeling two days ago?"

You huff. "I don't know. It was weird," you mumble. You don't elaborate, and Gaster doesn't ask for an explanation. So, of course, you keep talking. "Well, I was just really tired. And I kept sneezing."

"Can you think of anything that happened to you that might have been an instigator?" Gaster asks, making a quick note on his clipboard.

It's quiet while you think. _Did_ anything happen? "Well, I first started feeling tired after I ran to the house and back to get Asriel some food. Um, he was in the garden. So I ran there and back. So maybe that's where the tiredness came from?" Even as you say it, your words sound uncertain to your own ears.

"Do you often feel lethargy after running or other exercises?" he asks.

"Um – I, um, not really." You wring your hands under the desk. "I can run pretty far and not get tired. Or, at least, I used to be able to. When I, um, lived on the surface."

Gaster's pen hovers over the clipboard, and he asks, "Has your diet changed significantly since you began living with Toriel and Asgore?"

 _To lie or not to lie?_ It should probably be more of a struggle, but lying to a doctor gets you nowhere unless they want you to lie. So you say, "Yes." You think about elaborating but quickly throw that idea out. _Definitely not worth explaining the whole thing_.

Gaster looks at you consideringly, then makes a quick note. You look down at the paper curiously, but you can't see what he's writing. "Did anything else happen?" he asks. "Anything at all?"

"Uh…" You scratch your arm lightly under the table. "I talked to some monsters on the way back to the garden. Um, the 'Dogi,' and a…Temmie?" You shrug. "Other than that, I can't think of anything."

"Did you talk to them on the way to the house, or on the way back to the garden?"

"Back to the garden." _Why does it matter?_ you wonder but don't ask.

"And when did the lethargy hit?"

"Whenever I got back to the garden and gave Asriel a snack. That's when I started sneezing, too."

Gaster taps his pen against the table. "I see." What he sees, he doesn't say, but he continues, "Has anything like this happened before or since that incident?"

You again try to make eye contact but are unable. His face creeps you out too much. "Um, yesterday, kinda. Me and Asriel were playing in the living room and he – and I got scared, and then I got tired again. But I didn't sneeze or anything." You feel like you're throwing Asriel under the bus for some reason, even though everything you said was perfectly harmless.

"Do you have any allergies?" Gaster asks abruptly.

"No – not that I know of. Not to pollen or anything like that," you answer.

"To dogs or cats?" he questions.

"I don't know. I was never around any cats because my mom would get a rash." You say it before you realize that that answer leaves you open to more questions about your life on the surface.

Luckily, Gaster doesn't seem to notice. "You said you were scared?" he says, changing the subject again. "Would you say you were scared in both situations where the lethargy happened?" You almost shrug, but then nod, albeit slowly. You're willing to admit a weakness if Gaster can explain what happened to you.

Gaster writes for a long time, then pauses, then adds one more thing.

He puts down his pen. "I am sorry to have to ask this," he says, "and if I were not acting as a medical professional right now, I would never dream of it." He pauses for a moment then says, "Were you assigned female at birth, assigned male, or born differently?"

You feel your stomach drop. _What?_ You wrap your arms around your middle. _Why did he…?!_ "That – that's none of your business!" You attempt to sound stern, but it comes out feeble and scared. You drop your eyes and you can feel your cheeks turn red.

To his credit, Gaster does sound apologetic. "I realize that this seems like a rude and invasive question, but people who were AFAB, AMAB, or intersex are all susceptible to different –"

"I'm not a boy!" you interrupt. "I – I mean, I'm not a boy or a girl, I'm just…I just…." Your face is red and your eyes burn. "I thought that you monsters didn't care. I thought…." Your grip tightens around your arms. "You said it yourself that I didn't have to be a boy or a girl, right? That's what you meant, wasn't it?"

"You are right." You look up, thinking that he's mocking you, but he actually does look remorseful. "Perhaps it is not my place to ask. I apologize." You don't meet his eyes. He sighs. "I need to attend to a few things, and then you are all free to leave. Would you prefer to wait here or upstairs?"

Upstairs, with the Dreemurrs, should be the obvious answer, but you know that you probably look less than great right now and you don't want them to worry. "How long will it take?" you ask.

"No more than five minutes."

You half-shrug. "I'll wait here."

Gaster nods. "If you change your mind at any point, you know where to go. I apologize again." He stands and turns around, passing the staircase and instead going through a door on the left wall.

You take a second to rub at your eyes. You breathe deeply, trying to calm down. When you feel like your cheeks have finally returned to normal, you sit back and look around.

You're left alone in a room. A room belonging to a presumably renowned doctor, since the royal family trusts him. A room covered in papers that contain his notes on god-knows what.

Honestly, you consider it a testament to your self-control that you're able to wait almost thirty whole seconds before you get up to walk around. You're still a bit shaky, and you hope that looking around will take your mind off it. Gaster took his clipboard with him when he left, so you won't be able to see what he was writing down about you. You decide to investigate one of the closer desks.

The top is covered in pens and loose-leaf papers, and most of the papers are covered in what appear to be symbols. You turn the paper every which way, but you're unable to make out what it says. Does it even say anything? Maybe they're just drawings. (But you highly, highly doubt that is the case.)

Regardless, you decide that you're not going to learn anything significant from them, so you crouch down to look at the drawer on the left side of the desk. You're greeted with more loose, unreadable papers. After moving them aside, you see that there's an opened spiral bound notebook with the heading "Status Updates" at the top of the page. Relieved to finally see something that both sounds interesting and is written in English, you grab the notebook and begin reading.

 _Status Updates_

 _6/17_

 _I am considering calling this newly discovered status either "LV" or "LoV." Sans has suggested that I call it "LOVE," but I am fairly certain that he was joking.* It is a fascinating thing to study. LV is directly affected by a monster's ExP, and, as far as I have been able to tell, it does not affect a monster physically. As for a mental aspect, I am unsure because I have not come up with a way to definitively measure a monster's LV, and as such can make no precise conclusions._

 _It makes me wonder if the humans had a naturally higher LV. Their souls have been proven to be structured quite differently from ours, so I do not think that this conclusion is too much of a stretch. I would need to study a human's soul to draw any certain conclusions._

 _*Sans has informed me that he was not joking._

You frown when you finish the entry. The part about needing to "study a human's soul" makes you a bit uncomfortable. You read it looking for information, but you're even more confused now than you were before. You flip to the previous page to see if anyone bothered to write down what "LV" is, but it's written in those symbols once more. You flip back a few more pages and come across another page written in English. You skim it, and are about to continue flipping back when the heading catches your eye: "Human Magicians." The entry isn't too long, but you feel your breath catch in your throat. Could this explain how a human would be able to use magic? You're not naïve enough to hope for a step-by-step guide on how a human could do magic, but maybe you can figure out how to do it on your own if this page gives you enough basic information. Maybe you can be strong like the Dreemurrs. You read it quickly.

 _Human Magicians and the Barrier_

 _5/28_

 _The king has recently asked me to resume my studies on the Barrier. However, I am not quite sure how much more information can be gained from rereading notes, listening to old stories, and visiting the king's garden to stare at the thing._

 _What I feel would be most important to discover is the human magicians who created it. After all, human souls are not made of magic, so either these humans' souls were fundamentally different, or magic somehow was able to coexist with their souls. Would their ability to wield magic have lengthened their lifespan? In what other ways were they able to use their magic? Did the color of their souls affect it – and what colors were their souls?_

 _As always, thinking about the Barrier only leads to more questions than answers. I have discovered nothing new since the king last asked me to research it. The conclusion that I came to last time I studied the Barrier still stands. Hopefully the king will not think to ask me about it again. If he does, perhaps I can come up with something else. Until then, the Barrier will remain shrouded in mystery._

You huff. That wasn't what you were expecting at all – and instead of answering any of your questions, the entry only asked you its own. You wonder what Gaster's previous conclusion was, but your time is limited, so you continue flipping backwards, bypassing the unreadable pages and skimming the ones written in English – "The History and Uses of the Garbage Dump," "Monster Migration," "Home Grown Food VS Store Bought," "Boss Monsters," "Mini Bosses," and "Store Clerks" – until you find one with a familiar word in the title. You read it as quickly as you can.

 _New Status_

 _2/16_

 _I think I may have found out what affects a monster's statuses, to an extent. (At the very least, it noticeably influences them.) While genetics and certain external experiences in childhood can affect a monster's base statuses, their over-all statuses can be increased when a monster commits the act of harming another being. But why do their statuses go up when this happens? I believe it could stem from an evolutionary form of self-defense, or something of a stereotypical "survival of the fittest" system._

 _Sans says that he would like for me to add that he thinks that my theory is "bullshit." I thanked him for his input._

 _Even though I am the one writing this, I feel like I have given executionaries a name with a highly negative connotation. Executionaries would not always be bad for a monster to have; the king, queen, and members of the royal guard all have high executionaries, since they've been in war. Though, both the king and the queen have naturally higher statuses since they are boss monsters. I believe that this shows that statuses are linked to the strength of a monster's soul,_ _and_ _to a monster's executionaries._

 _If my theory holds, then…could be a…overarching…However, I…no…_

The words get progressively more difficult to read until the letters all turn into symbols; there is nothing else on the rest of the page that you would even have a chance at deciphering. You scowl at the page, as though willing it to become legible. Then you sigh.

"Whoa there, kid. I figured that as a human, you might be curious about us monsters, but ya might wanna _not_ mess with W.D.'s stuff. Can you even read it?"

You start, but you slowly set the notebook down and turn around, doing your best not to look guilty. Another skeleton is leaning against the wall casually. It looks calm and unthreatening, but something about it makes the skin on your neck crawl. You're pretty sure it's the unfeeling smile combined with an unflinching gaze. You know it's not the fault of the skeleton itself that it can't be more expressive, but it makes you uncomfortable regardless.

"Kid?" it says again.

"Who're you?" you ask like you're _not_ the one who just got caught rummaging around in someone else's stuff.

"Call me Sans," it says. The name rings a bell – you realize that you read it in Gaster's entries, but you know that you've heard it somewhere else. "And who are you?"

"Chara." You fold your arms across your chest. "What are you doing here?"

If a skeleton could raise an eyebrow, you would put money on the fact that it would be doing so right now. "Took my bro down to Waterfall to play with his friend. Just got back. And you?"

"I had a doctor's appointment. Doctor Gaster told me I could stay down here," you say shortly. This skeleton's flippant attitude rubs you the wrong way. What right did it have, to just come in here and start questioning you?

"Where's your family, kid?"

"Upstairs. Stop calling me 'kid.'"

Another eyebrow-less eyebrow raise. "So you're not a kid? How old are you?"

"Stop asking so many questions!" you snap.

It looks at you assessingly. Its voice changes, and if you'd been looking at it more closely, you would have noticed that something else about it changed as well. "How about you –"

A noise interrupts it. It's Gaster, talking like he did when he spoke to Asgore earlier and gesturing wildly. He looks pissed at Sans, you think. You wonder why, but you're not gonna question it if it takes the attention off you.

Just as you think that, Gaster turns on his heel and looks at you. His manner softens noticeably.

"I apologize for his rudeness," Gaster says. Sans almost interjects, but Gaster holds up a hand and Sans' huffs and turns away. "This is Sans. I am afraid that he has never met a human, and that he can seem standoffish to those he does not know. He was just on his way to go finish his chores."

Sans' expression doesn't change, but his body language does. You can see the way his shoulders hunch up and his head drops. Despite your initial dislike, you can feel a sort of sympathy. You know that he's not angry, or even embarrassed. He's worried that he won't have the energy to do what he needs to do. He's counting a list in his head of all the things he _should_ do, and trying to section off which ones he _can_ do. Sans, you can tell, is having a bad day.

Gaster must see something in your expression because he turns back to Sans. He speaks to Sans – asks a question, you think.

Sans looks uncomfortable, but nods. Gaster says something else, voice much gentler than when he was scolding Sans before.

Sans' shoulders slump in relief. "Thanks, W.D.," he mumbles, and then walks past you and out of sight.

You watch him go in confusion.

Gaster doesn't elaborate. Instead, he says, "I will return shortly," and walks up the stairs to retrieve the Dreemurrs.

Asriel is the first on down. He takes the steps two at a time, and when you're within hearing range, he says, "Chara! Did you know that Doctor Gaster has a TV? It's so cool!"

You smile, feeling any excess tension drain out of your body. "What did you watch?"

"I don't know," Asriel admits. "But it was cool!"

You laugh.

Gaster, Toriel, and Asgore finally make it down the stairs. Gaster motions them towards the door, and they all begin walking in that direction. Asriel runs ahead, reaching the door before anyone. You lag behind.

Gaster is talking to Asgore and Toriel, but you're tuning it out. From your position behind him and the way he's holding it, you can see Gaster's clipboard. Most everything is written in those symbols, but a few phrases aren't.

 _Suggest more frequent check-ups; likely that humans get sick more easily._

 _Insist to T that humans cannot survive on pie alone; give her a coupon for some fruits and vegetables._

There might have been more, but you barely paid them any mind because you couldn't stop looking at one sentence toward to the bottom of the page.

 _Lethargy caused by unconsciously (?) trying to initiate a battle; but they do not seem malicious – do not mention to A &T._


	14. Unequivocal

**Still beta'd by Sheridan! ( sheridanblog on tumblr); you have him to thank for at least half of this chapter getting written.**

* * *

 **un e quiv' o cal - adj., leaving no room for doubt; unambiguous**

* * *

"Wow," Asriel says once you two are alone in your room. "I didn't know it was possible for someone to be allergic to Temmies!"

You shrug. "Guess I'm just that lucky, huh?" you reply dryly. On the way back, you heard Toriel and Asgore talking about your doctor's visit and were able to figure out most of what was said while you were zoned out. Apparently, Gaster had suggested check-ups once every three months for you, instead of once a year like Asriel. And you were allergic to Temmie in the same way that your mother had been allergic to cats. Any similarities you draw between yourself and her make you highly uncomfortable, but you console yourself with the fact that none of the Dreemurrs have to know about it – or anything about your life on the surface. Continuing your conversation with Asriel, you ask, "Do you have any allergies?"

"Nah," he answers. "When I was little, though, I pretended for a while that I was allergic to cinnamon."

"What? Why?" You know why – he hates cinnamon for some unknown reason. Not waiting for a response, you add, "Cinnamon is good. You're just lame." Your rebuttal is truly flawless.

"Not as lame as cinnamon," Asriel insists.

You snort and throw an arm over your eyes, flopping back onto your bed dramatically. "Alas, it is true!" you say dramatically. "Indeed, the only thing lamer than cinnamon would have to be snails!"

Asriel attempts mock-indignation for a moment before he gives up and laughs. "You're silly." You hear Asriel rustling around and move your arm so that you can look at him. His hands are full of paper and crayons – he's in the mood to draw today, you assume. "Are you feeling all right?" he suddenly asks.

"Hmm? Yeah, I guess. Why?" you respond, confused. Do you look sick or something?

"Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, after being alone with Doctor Gaster. I mean, he's really cool! But I wasn't sure how you'd, y'know, feel about being around him 'cause you didn't know him at all and…" Asriel ducks his head. "I was just a little worried."

Are you embarrassed? Yes. Does an overwhelming sense of joy and love make that embarrassment insignificant? Very nearly.

You hop off your bed and meet him in the floor, helping him carry the materials out into the living room so that he can draw in front of the fireplace. "I really am fine," you insist. "It was kinda weird at first, and I was a little uncomfortable, but after a while it wasn't too bad." You toss the papers and crayons on the floor, and plop down next to everything. Asriel is a bit more gentle with his.

You're not in the mood to color, so you lean against Toriel's chair and talk aimlessly with Asriel. Toriel is fixing lunch – just sandwiches, but even Toriel's simple meals are always delicious – and Asgore is out talking to some monster whose name you can't remember. Gerald? Jeremy? Eh, you're sure that it won't be important.

Asgore doesn't make it home in time for lunch, so Toriel lets you and Asriel eat in the floor while she reads a book. Since you're not distracted by drawing the way that Asriel is (what's he drawing? You have no clue, but its eyes are _huge_ ), you speak up and ask Toriel, "What are you reading?"

Toriel looks at you over the rims of her reading glasses. They make her look like a kindly librarian, in your opinion. "I was given a new book about knitting recently," she answers, showing you the cover. _Knitting: Quilts and Sweaters_ , the cover announces. There are a few balls of yarn pictured around it. "Do you know anything about knitting?" she asks; not patronizingly, just curiously.

You shake your head.

"Would you like to learn?" she offers.

Your eyes light up. "Wait, really? Isn't it hard?"

"It can be difficult to get the hang of," she admits, book-marking her page and setting it aside, "but the payoff is more than worth it, I believe." She stands up, motioning for you to follow. Asriel watches you two leave, but decides that his drawing is more important and lets you go off alone. She shows you to her room and retrieves a fluffy blanket from a dresser. It's orange and yellow, and looks super comfy. You reach out run your hand over it.

"Whoa," you breathe. "It's so soft!" You bring the edge of the blanket and rub it against your cheek. It smells like old books and faintly of the fireplace scent that you associate with the living room. "How do you do this?" you ask, looking up at Toriel with wide eyes and clear interest.

She beams. "I'm so glad that you asked!"

* * *

You end up not having school that day. You and Toriel were too caught up in your first knitting lesson too notice how much time had passed, and Asriel hadn't either until his stomach started rumbling for dinner. The lesson was honestly a little frustrating. Toriel started out by showing you her needles, which came in a variety of sizes, and she warned you to be careful with them. Then, you had to learn how to make a slip knot. Loop, pull the tail through the loop, slip in the needle, pull tight. Should be simple!

It wasn't. Well, after you got it, it was pretty easy, but it still amazed you how easily Toriel was about to do it. She had to adjust the next part of your lesson because she held the needle in her left hand, whereas you would hold it in your right. Then, you push the other needle through the slip knot behind the first needle. And then you put the yarn between the needles and pushed the left hand needle against the right hand needle and pulled the yarn you just wrapped around through the slip knot. Then you have lots of loops and you needed to transfer it.

It was a frustrating process. For every concept she introduced, your confusion increased. How anyone could memorize these steps was beyond you.

You though as much until your seventh row; by then, you were doing it mindlessly. Toriel was impressed and proud, saying that you were a natural. By the time your lesson was over, you had knitted a small rectangular patch. And you were damn proud of it. When Asriel came and got you two, Toriel ended your first session by giving you your own pair of needles and ball of yarn to practice with. You were super excited. She asked you what you would like to learn how to knit, and your immediate reply was a sweater – how cool would it be to make your own clothes? Toriel looked a bit hesitant, and informed you that that project would take time and effort and could be quite difficult.

Properly cautioned, you still insisted, and she relented with a smile and an, "Of course, my child. Perhaps a smaller one to begin with, though." You're satisfied with this compromise.

* * *

Asgore is back in time for dinner. You can tell he's distracted – he doesn't really talk about whom he was with, and you catch him zoning out more than once. For the most part, it's a quiet meal, which suits you just fine. You take your plate into the kitchen after you're done, and Asgore follows you in.

"Chara, would you like a cup of tea?" he asks, setting his dishes in the sink and grabbing out a cup. You nod, and he grabs another. "What flavor?"

"Cinnamon, please," you say. "I liked it the last time you made it for me."

Asgore hums in agreement and bustles around, getting everything ready. While he waits for the water to boil, he says, "How are you feeling?" He turns his back to the counter and scratches the back of his neck.

You shift your weight. "Um, I'm good. I mean, I feel better, yeah." You fiddle with the sleeves of your shirt.

"That is good," Asgore says. You're not sure how closely he's paying attention to you – or to anything, for that matter, because he hasn't seemed to notice that the teapot is whistling.

Toriel walks into the kitchen with her and Asriel's dishes. She quickly makes her way to the teapot and pours it out into the cups Asgore had set out. She looks at him curiously. "Chara, Gorey?" You both look up at her. "Your tea?"

"Yes, yes!" he says suddenly, snapping his head up. "Cinnamon!" He clears his throat and takes the cups from Toriel. He puts a teabag in each to let them seep, and hands you the smaller one. He walks back out the dining room, absently ruffling your hair as he passes you.

You scrunch up your nose. Holding the cup in your right hand, you bring up your left to smooth it out. Well, "smooth" being a relative term. You try to flatten it until the tangles start hurting to tug out. You pat it down one last time for good measure, but it still feels messier than usual. Ugh, your hair is the worst – it's always a tangled mess. Your brother kept his hair at, well, a "boy's" length, so he never had this problem. You sigh and blow on your tea.

From behind you, Toriel says, "Chara?"

You start, almost spilling hot water all over your hands. "Yeah?"

"When was the last time you brushed your hair?"

You frown. "When I woke up?" you say, though it sounds more like a question.

"With a hairbrush," she specifies.

"Oh. I, um." You lower your gaze, not meeting her eyes. "I don't like to use hairbrushes because they hurt," you mumble quickly. They pull at your hair uncomfortably, and in your opinion, they're just not worth it. Besides, you have fingers that work just as well.

Toriel sighs. "My child," she begins slowly, then shakes her head. "Follow me," she says, making her way out of the kitchen. Asgore is sitting at the table, sipping tea that must be too hot. Toriel continues, "Set down your tea and let it cool. We will be back shortly."

You do as she says and follow her as she walks to the hallway. You wring your hands nervously. You want to tell her that this whole endeavor is unnecessary and that your hair is fine – if anything, it just needs a trim. Because when she brushes your hair it's gonna hurt and your mother never cared if she hurt your hair when she brushed it, that's why you should just keep it short, it's easier on everyone.

Past yours and Asriel's room. Past the bathroom – you can hear Asriel in the shower. He's singing something, but all you hear are garbled syllables.

Toriel leads you into her room once more, and again makes her way over to her dresser. She gestures for you to sit on the bed. Your nails dig into the back of your hand as you take a seat. Why are you so wound up? She's just going to brush your hair and that'll be that. And she did say that she'd try to trim it – is that why she's doing this?

Instrument of torture in hand, Toriel stands facing you and says, "I will do my best to be gentle, but please let me know if it hurts too badly."

You nod. If it hurts ridiculously bad, then you'll consider saying something, but you're going to try your damnedest not to complain.

You face the wall while she brushes your hair. It hurts, yes, but not as badly as you were expecting. When she'd hit a knot, Toriel would hold down the hair close to your scalp to dampen the feeling of having your hair yanked out of your head. You end up wincing a lot, but you're able to hold your tongue. You're not sure how long it takes, but eventually you realize that she isn't holding your hair down anymore; she's just running the brush through it.

"All done!" she announces.

You run a hand through your hair. And you have to do it a second time because _holy shit it's so smooth!_ You fix your bangs back to where they were before Toriel had brushed them back. It's even more obvious now that you need a haircut – you can barely see through your bangs as they come down past your eyes. You push them to the left and right so that you can see and turn around to face Toriel.

"If you brush your hair regularly, then you can avoid difficult knots and tangles," Toriel says. "Attempt to do it every morning when you wake up, and every night before you go to sleep, okay?" She hands you the brush. "Now, finish your tea, and then get ready for bed. It is getting late."

"Okay," you say, and quickly add, "Thank you, for, um, that." You touch your hair again. "It feels really soft now. I like it."

Toriel smiles. "Of course, my child. If you ever want me to brush it again, you simply need to ask. Your hair is very lovely, though I agree that you are in need of a trim." She says the last part teasingly, but you still flush. Your hair – while amazingly soft – probably looks stupidly long. You hope they'll cut it soon. Toriel must gather as much since she adds, "Would tomorrow be okay? I do not think that we have anything plans for the next few days, however, so if you would prefer to wait, feel free."

You tug at the ends of your hair. _Ugh, split ends._ "Tomorrow's good," you agree. You grin and head out of the room with a parting, "G'night."

"Sleep well," Toriel responds.

You drop off your new hairbrush in your room on the way to the kitchen. You hope that your tea is still warm.

Asgore is still sitting at the table, hand wrapped around an empty teacup. He looks up when you enter and smiles tiredly. "Ah, Chara, your hair looks nice."

"Thanks," you say. You take your normal seat at the table and sip your tea, only to grimace. It's lukewarm.

"Would you like for me to warm it up for you?" Asgore offers, seeming to be a bit more aware than before.

You smile sheepishly. "If it's not too much trouble." There are few things that you'll ask for, but warm tea is definitely one of them.

"None at all," Asgore assures you. You give him your cup, but he doesn't stand to take it into the kitchen. Instead, he holds it in one hand and stares at it intently. It takes you a moment to realize that white flames can be seen between his hand and the cup. You blink. Oh, yeah. Magic.

Tea heated, you sip your drink in silence while Asgore fiddles with his own cup.

You lick your lips and clear your throat. "Hey, um, where were you earlier today?" you ask. Dinner didn't feel like the right time to bring it up (and honestly, now doesn't either), but your curiosity outweighs your caution.

"I visited an old friend." Asgore interrupts himself with a chuckle. "Well, I say 'old' – he's actually quite young! His name is Gerson. He used to visit more often before he moved to Waterfall; he has dreams of running a shop. I visited him there because he refuses to get a phone, and I had a few questions for him." Asgore trails off. You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

You mentally shrug. No use pushing for information that he doesn't want to give. If you pester him, he might become cagey or irritated; but if you let him be, he might decide that you're mature and deserve to be told things. Besides, he looks exhausted.

Feeling like a super mature adult, you say, "It's getting kinda late. I'm going to go to bed."

As expected, that prompts Asgore to nod and say, "Yes, yes. Good idea. Here, I will take the dishes." With a teacup in each hand, he says, "Goodnight, Chara."

"Night."

Asriel is in your room when you get back, humming and looking through his toys. Hearing the door open, he turns around and greets you with a smile. "Howdy, Chara. Oh, wow, your hair looks different!"

"Thanks! It's really soft," you confide. This is similar to what would happen on the surface when your mother would get a new outfit. Everyone had to comment on it and say something along the lines of, _Oh, you look lovely! Is that new?_ You don't know how she put up with it; you've only gotten two compliments and you already feel weird. You suppose she liked the attention. Turning your attention back to the kid ( _Ha! Terrible joke_ ) that's surrounded by toys he doesn't usually play with, you ask, "What're you doing?" You join him at the foot of his bed to get a better look at what's going on.

Asriel's main form of entertainment, you've discovered, is coloring. But in lieu of papers and crayons, he's got stuffed animals – and plants? You count two snails, a tree with a smiley face, a tree with a frowny face, a snowman, two dogs, and various flowers with varying emotions. He's got quite the collection.

"Well," Asriel begins with the bravado of someone who's about to tell an awesome story,

"this is the prince." He holds up the frowning tree. Picking up the smiling one, he continues, "And this is the princess! The snails are their horses 'cause they're super-fast snails. The snowman has captured the prince because it thinks that the prince is gonna be a dumb king, and it doesn't want him to be king. The princess has gotta save her brother from the snowman with the help of the flowers. The flowers have to work together to bring springtime to the kingdom and melt the snowman so that the prince can get away!"

It's an interesting story, but you see one flaw. "But what if the prince _would_ be a dumb king? Then the snowman is right and the rest of them are wrong."

Asriel shakes his head. "The snowman is the bad guy, though, so he can't be right."

You snort. "The bad guy could be right," you mumble, but you drop it. "What's happening right now?"

Apparently, the flower with a deadpan face is having an argument with one of the snails. You play the princess tree, who must get the flower to focus, while Asriel plays both the snail and the flower. Eventually, you're able to turn the season to spring with your vaguely established flower magic, and the prince and princess are reunited. A question suddenly pops into your head.

"What would – what would a prince or princess be called if they weren't a boy or a girl?" you blurt out. You're pretty sure that there isn't a word for it, which makes you – uncomfortable? Sad? Disappointed? But maybe the monsters have a word for it, so you might as well ask.

Asriel furrows his eyebrows and sticks his tongue out in thought. "Um. Like a ruler?" He frowns. "No, I think there's a better word? Ah, no, I know there's a word, but I can't think of it!" He looks around the room searchingly, as if the answer is written on the walls. "Oh gosh, I can't remember!" He ducks his head in shame. "I'm sorry."

"No, no! Don't be sorry – I was just wondering. I didn't think there was, anyway. It's fine." It's not Asriel's fault, you reason, but you still feel bitter.

It's silent for a moment, but then Asriel's eyes widen and he abruptly shouts, "Butterfly!" Your mouth opens in bewilderment. "Wait, no – monarch!" He straightens his back proudly. "They'd be a monarch! That's the word!" He smiles widely, clearly proud of himself. "I mean, I guess that's closer to a king or a queen than a prince or princess, but – but it still works, right?"

You can't help but laugh. "Yes, I think it does." You pick back up your tree. "Good job, Azzy. And, thank you."

"No problem," Asriel replies. But he doesn't pick up his tree. Instead, he quickly says, "So does that mean that you're gonna be a monarch?"

He spoke so fast that it takes you a moment to process the question. "How do you mean?"

"Well, y'know, you're kinda like…" Asriel trails off. "You live with us, and since mom and dad and me….And now you, so would that make…?" He rubs the back of his neck and you're fairly certain that he's blushing.

"I don't know if I understand." You're pretty sure that you understand. But you're a _human_. You could never be a pri – a _monarch_ , or anything like that, especially of the monsters. It'd be ridiculous on more levels than you could imagine. Aside from your obvious human-ness, you could never be qualified because – well, you're _you_. You overreact and act dumb and you don't like brushing your hair, which kings and queens probably have to do a _lot_ , and you could never be anything other than a whiny kid.

"Um, I just." He picks up his tree. "Never mind." Speaking as the tree prince, he says, "Thank you for saving me! I promise that I'll be a good king!"

"I know that you will," you reply. As the tree, of course. Because you're playing a game. You're a tree that's talking to a tree. Right.

The story winds up quickly after that, and you put on your pajamas and climb into your bed.

Asriel turns off the light and says, "Goodnight, Chara."

"Night, Azzy." You run your fingers through your hair again and roll over to face the wall.

And then the room is quiet. Asriel, you're sure, is out within five minutes, but you can't get to sleep.

Throughout the day you've been busy, which has kept you from thinking about what you read on Gaster's clipboard. But in the quiet darkness, you have plenty of time to think about it. It feels like all your thoughts suddenly come rushing to the surface.

Battle? You were trying to start a _battle_? How did that even work?! You know there's a clear difference between what a fight would be on the surface and what a fight between monsters is like. You can feel the energy from monsters' battles in the air – something clearly changes. You've felt it when you would watch Asriel fight against Toriel or Asgore, and you've felt it yourself. When you fought a Whimsun.

To be honest, you haven't thought about it all that much. You've had other things on your mind – and besides, it was just a Whimsun, right? Plus, you're fairly certain that you didn't start that battle. Gaster had said that your _trying_ to start a battle is what had exhausted you, meaning that you were unable to _actually_ start one. Perhaps humans can't be the one to instigate a monster battle. The thought is actually comforting, in a way – you were doing it subconsciously (you had to be, because you would never try to fight Asriel), so that means that you felt threatened, but no other monster was ever actually trying to hurt you. Well, minus the Whimsun. Maybe that one was sick or angry or something else?

You roll back over, satisfied with your conclusion. Besides, who says that Gaster was even right? Maybe he was wrong because he wasn't familiar enough with humans to come up with a foolproof explanation. Besides, Asgore and Toriel had seemed satisfied with whatever explanation Gaster had given them, and he'd clearly not told them about your supposed trying-to-fight tendency.

You pull your covers over your head with one last sigh. You fall back on your favorite method of dealing with these things – ignore it, and hope that it goes away.

* * *

"They should be given a choice in the matter, Tori," a voice insists outside your door. "We should tell them." Well, that sounds suspicious enough to warrant waking up. You blink the sleep from your eyes and run a hand through your hair. (If your hair stays this soft, that might become a new habit.)

" _Shh!_ " someone else replies. Toriel. "The children are sleeping. You wanted to talk in the kitchen, and we will talk in the kitchen – not the hallway." Two sets of footsteps fade away.

You sit in the darkness, contemplating your options.

Oh, what the hell? You're not even going to play this game with yourself. Of _course_ you're going to eavesdrop. You slip out of bed and put on a pair of socks to make your steps extra-quiet. You glance at Asriel, wondering if you should wake him up as well. After all, Asgore had only said "they," which could refer to you alone or you _and_ Asriel. You bite your lip. If it's important for him to know, you'll tell him when you get back. You creep out of the room, unnoticed.

You pass the front door and peer into the living room. Toriel and Asgore are in the kitchen already, both talking in low voices, so you're going to have to get closer to hear anything. Sticking to the wall, you patiently make your way around the room. It's going to be difficult to get out, you abruptly realize. You'll have to leave well before they do, so you probably won't be able to listen for long.

"I thought about mentioning it to them then, but it did not seem like the right time," Asgore says. _Of course, I already missed him saying_ what _he was going to tell us. Predictable._ You lean against the wall to the side of the fireplace, not daring to sit down in case you have to make a run for the other side of the room.

"They are just a child, Asgore!" Toriel argues. They're just talking about you, then; if it had been both you and Asriel, she would have said "children," not "child." Lowering her voice, she continues, "You cannot put such a responsibility on their shoulders. Why must you tell them so soon? They have barely been here for a month!"

"Because they can handle it," Asgore says. "And think about how Chara would feel about being kept in the dark; if we did not tell them; if we kept pushing it off. They finally learn to trust us, only to learn that we have withheld things 'for their own good'? They will feel hurt and betrayed, Tori. I do not want them to look at us with fear or distrust. I…" Asgore sighs. "You are much better at showing them how much you care, Tori, but I love them too."

Your eyes widen.

But then, why are you so surprised? You should know this by now; at least some of it must have stuck, no matter how hard you try to deny their affections for you. They've given you so much – hell, they've said it right to you!

And yet, that's how you know it's true - he didn't say it to your face. People lie to your face. He said it behind your back, which is where people tell the truth. He wouldn't have been pretending or bluff or misleading you because, for all he knows, you're asleep right now. Except you're _not_ and you feel like you could burst from happiness.

You're barely listening to what's being said, but you're snapped out of your thoughts when Toriel says, sounding at least somewhat less vehement, "We can continue this conversation in the morning, dear. It is late."

You're halfway across the room before Asgore even has a chance to reply. You dash down the hallway and slip back into your room, closing the door softly behind you. Your hands don't leave the handle, and you press an ear against the door. You hear Toriel and Asgore's slow gaits as they pass your room. Faintly, you hear them exchange _Good night_ 's and _I love you_ 's before they go their own ways. You let go of the door and walk the middle of the room instead of your bed, standing there with your hands resting on top of your head.

Your chest feels light. And heavy. And you're a little bit dizzy? But it's a good dizzy. It's just – just so _bizarre_. Everything is. The fact that you feature in someone else's conversations (and in a positive light) is almost too much. Hell, half the time you still have to convince yourself that this isn't a dream; you're not crazy; this is all real, it has to be real, because what else could it be?

You run a hand through your hair. It's soft and nice and a little too long, but that's fine because you're getting it cut soon. You gently touch the edge of your t-shirt. _Your_ t-shirt, not Asriel's; he's given you so much, and if you let him, he'd probably give you more. You think about the pie that you had for dessert. Your life seems to be comprised of Toriel and Asriel's generosity.

"That's not true," you whisper under your breath. And because you said it out loud, you know you're right. Your words hang in the air, unchallenged, as more and more instances pop into your mind. Of Asgore moving your bed into Asriel's room; of Asgore allowing you to stay in their household, even though he seemed unsure of you as a human; of Asgore making you tea; of Asgore letting you fret and worry over Asriel, and not getting mad (maybe even happy); of Asgore making sure that you're safe and comfortable. And of Asgore thinking that you deserve to be included, apparently. Included in _what_ , you don't yet know, but you think that by tomorrow you will. Tomorrow Asgore will make sure that you know what's going on with things that concern you because he sees you as responsible and competent and deserving. And mature. You feel your chest swell with pride.

You giggle. You fucking giggle; you can't help it. You're just so, so, _so_ full of - of something. Your stomach flip-flops, but not in the way that it does when you're sick; it's more like what happens when Asriel holds your hand. When Toriel says _"Good job."_ When Asgore smiles at you with approval. It's like what happens when you realize that you're loved.

"Ahh - uhh, Chara?" a groggy voice calls out weakly. "You 'wake?" You can see Asriel shifting around under his covers, lifting his head up in confusion.

"Yes, Asriel," you answer easily. "I just went to the bathroom." Nothing important happened, not really. No need to tell Asriel about your eavesdropping habit. You definitely _do not skip_ over to your bed, and crawl in.

"Mmm, yeah, okay." He yawns and his head flops back onto the pillow. "Night, love you."

Your breath hitches and you lick your lips. "I, um - I - yeah." Your voice is barely audible. You head is still swimming, and impulsively, you mumble, "Love you, too, Azzy." Your voice is scratchy and hoarse and you can feel your heart beating against your chest. You hold your breath.

Silence. Then, "Ngh, Chara, did you say something?"

Your gaze softens. You cough. "Nothing. Go back to bed." No need to repeat that. You pull the covers up to your chin and close your eyes. Asriel doesn't respond; must already be asleep.

After a moment, you smile – partially in relief. You smile because of fear of what will come next; you smile and you can feel yourself start to cry, but you don't feel empty or drained. You're more full of _feelings_ than you've ever been before, and everything is boiling over and overflowing, and that's all right. Because you're okay, you think. You're okay. And, and everything is weird, and everything is fine, and everything is perfect. Well, no - not _perfect._ It's _good_ ; maybe even great. And it's getting better. And you know that it will keep getting better.

It's gotta.


	15. Constitute

**con' sti tute - v., to be a part of a whole**

* * *

You half-expected Toriel to use safety scissors for your haircut, so you breathe a sigh of relief when you see what looks like normal scissors in her hand. You tap your fingers against your leg as you wait. Toriel wanted to trim your hair before breakfast; you hope that she finishes quickly because you can already feel your stomach growling.

"All right, my child," Toriel begins. "Put this around your shoulders." She hands you a towel and you do as she says. You make sure that the towel is over top of the back of the chair that you're sitting on. You hold the ends of the towel together between your left hand and your chest. It feels almost like a cape. If Asriel were awake, you would have mentioned it to him, but he's sleeping in until breakfast.

First, Toriel brushes your hair. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did the first time. She then picks up the scissors and, after you give the go-ahead, begins cutting.

You don't mean to judge, but you're not quite sure if she's doing it right. She's cutting your hair almost like one would cut a sheet of paper. She started on your right side, picked up the strand of hair she was cutting, snipped it, then let it fall. You sit as still as you can because you know that fidgeting would make her job way harder. Still, you end up tapping your fingers against your leg and letting your feet swing lightly. The scissors make a satisfying sound each time they chop off more of your hair. You zone out a little bit and stare at the wall. The room is quite except for the snip-snip and the low crackle of the ever-burning fireplace.

Abruptly, you're snapped out of your stupor when Toriel says, "Here we are!" She sets down the scissors and unwraps the towel from your shoulders, adding, "Go see how it looks!"

You slide off the chair and stretch, glad that you're able to move after having to sit still for so long. You roll your neck and make your way to the end of the hallway nervously. Taking a deep breath, you look in the mirror.

It's...uneven. It's choppy and you can already see that the left side of your hair is longer than the right. Your bangs look like they were done in two not-quite lined up cuts, but at least they're out of your eyes. But it's also all just above your shoulders, like you wanted it. You run you fingers through your hair and smile.

You love it.

* * *

Toriel and Asgore keep glancing at each other throughout breakfast. Asriel doesn't seem to notice, and keeps rambling on about his dream. You're only half-listening ( _"And then all the smiling flowers started frowning and then they were evil but that's okay because there was a hero and she had a big sword and her friends all had big swords too so they could fight the flowers –"_ ); the rest of you is focused on appearing nonchalant and mature so that Asgore keeps seeing you as a responsible adult who deserves to be told things. When will he tell you what they were talking about? After breakfast? Lunch? School? Dinner? Will he do it after Asriel's asleep? Or will he do it tomorrow?

"Chara, may I speak to you after breakfast?" Asgore speaks up during one of Asriel's pauses for breath.

Oh. That answers that. You nod, trying not to let your nervousness and excitement show on your face.

Some of it must, though, because Asgore smiles at you. "Do not worry; you are not in trouble."

"Okay," you say, feigning relief – he wouldn't know that you already know there's nothing to worry about.

You hurry to finish the rest of your breakfast and almost choke on your orange juice. After you've all finished, Toriel asks Asriel to help her do the dishes. He nods, turning to you and adding, "I'll tell you the rest of the story later!" before he dashes off. You snort. Not that you think he's being silly; it's just – cute. You probably _will_ listen to the rest of his dream later because you know that he really likes telling stories.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Asgore take a steadying breath. You think he might be even more nervous than you are, and you're literally sitting on the edge of your seat. The suspense is _killing_ you, but you keep your mouth shut and wait for Asgore to begin.

Finally, he does. "About once a month, I give a monthly address to all the monsters in the Underground. As king, the responsibility for keeping everyone informed falls on my shoulders. However, I have not been able to give it for the past few months."

There goes your good mood. You hunch your shoulders guiltily. You thought you were going to be included in something, but nope – just updates on how you're impeding the Dreemurrs' lives.

"You are not in trouble," Asgore repeats, seeing your reaction. He chuckles lightly. "In fact, you are getting me out of a chore that I sometimes dislike doing. It has been a nice reprieve, to be honest." You relax a little bit. " However, I do need to return to giving them, as well as continue making my rounds. The general population is quite well-behaved – we rarely have problems – but it serves to make them feel safer if they can see their king, you see."

You suppose that you do see, but you're still anxious for Asgore to get to the point.

"Now," he continues, "I have a request to ask of you." He takes a deep breath. "You know that Toriel and I both love you and see you as our own."

You're barely able to keep a wide grin off your face because _yes_ , for once you _do_ know! Instead, though, you settle for nodding.

Asgore looks pleased with that response. "I am glad. In that case, Toriel and I would like to introduce you as an official part of our family when I give my next address."

They – _what_? "You – _what_? Why?"

"Because we see you as family, and we want to let the Underground know. Make it official, as it were," he explains patiently. A look of apprehension suddenly covers his features. "If you are uncomfortable with that or do not see us the same way, that is perfectly –"

"No!" you interrupt. "I – I mean, I do, it's just – what will people think? I'm a human!" Suddenly, you don't want to be an adult. You don't want to be included in things. You're a kid! They can't possibly expect you to act like a monarch!

But then, Asriel doesn't really act like you would think that a prince _should_ act. He plays games and colors and tells stories and does his chores. He complains, yeah, but that's because he's allowed to; he acts like a normal kid would. And come to think of it, Toriel and Asgore don't act super royal, either. Just look at the house they live in! It's a house, not a palace or a castle. Maybe you _could_ do this. But Toriel's words from last night suddenly hit you. And what if she's right? What if you are too young for this sort of responsibility? Should they wait until you're older? But, but what if the time's never quite right? What will you get if you keep saying, _"I'll do it when I'm older"_? Hell, you yourself have said that you can't imagine being an adult. Besides, you've decided that you're mature, damn it!

Asgore is looking at you expectantly. Oh, shit, did he say something? He looks hopeful, though, so you say, "Okay. I think that's fine, as long as everyone else is okay with it."

He smiles broadly. "Of course it is! Thank you, Chara."

You tug at the ends of your hair. "Are you sure that Toriel is okay with it?"

Asgore nods. "She is nervous about putting responsibility on your shoulders. But I think that, as long as you feel that you can handle it, you will be fine, which I why I wanted to talk to you about it. I also feel that you deserve to know how each of us sees you – as a child and a sibling."

Oh, gosh. You know he can't speak for the others, not really, but…oh, gosh. Your chest feels warm and your stomach turns, but in a good way. In the best way. You say, "Okay," but you think that Asgore can tell that you mean, _"Thank you."_

* * *

Two days from now. In two days, Asgore is going to give his address, introducing you as "Chara Dreemurr." And one week from now, you're going to accompany the Dreemurrs on their round around the Underground.

You absentmindedly pull at the grass as you let that sink in. Your head is having difficulty wrapping around everything. You had no clue what Asgore and Toriel were talking about last night, but you definitely didn't think that it was going to be, _"Oh, we're informally adopting you and letting all of the other monsters know that we see you as important. Also, you're royalty by association."_ Paraphrased, of course, but still. It's absurd. It's ridiculous. And, apparently, it's really happening.

You were lucky that you (again) overheard Asgore and Toriel speaking when they were fixing lunch. Asgore had told Toriel what he apparently told you while you were lost in your own thoughts. "They seemed to have a positive reaction to it, for the most part, and they agree with our decision to name them as our heir, behind Asriel." You really need to stop zoning out when important details are being discussed. Toriel still thought that you should have been told when you were a bit older, but Asgore maintained that he saw you as mature enough to be included. Now, with all the information in your head, you're not sure whose side you're on. You wonder what you would have said if you'd known that you were agreeing to. You know, logically, that it's probably just formalities – they're all going to outlive you, anyway. But they still think that, in the case that something were to happen to them, you could _rule_. You could be a _monarch_.

What the _fuck_.

You also found out that Asgore had already taken some actions to put things into motion – hence him talking to Gerson yesterday, and why he didn't want to wait on telling you. You have to admit that you likely would have been pissed if you'd been kept in the dark about it while plans were being made that involved you.

You turn your attention to the battle in front of you when you feel it end. Asriel looks tired. He did indeed tell you about the rest of his dream earlier, but you've already forgotten it. You're pretty sure that the good guys (or rather, girls) won either way.

"Hey, Chara!" he huffs out, sitting down next to you. "Do you think that I did a good job?"

"Absolutely," you say. "You're pretty tough, Azzy." You push yourself off the ground and wipe your hands off on your pants. Toriel will probably fuss about grass stains, but – you blink. Grass stains. Bad. Upset. She'll be upset, which is bad but…That's fine? She won't _really_ be upset. She'll sigh and ask you to be more careful when you're in the garden, but she won't get mad at you or yell.

You abruptly feel terrible for wiping your hands on your pants.

"Chara?"

"Huh?" You jerk your head up.

Asriel says, "Did you hear me?" He doesn't wait for you to answer, and instead repeats, "Come on, if you get the gloves, I'll get the watering cans!" He grabs your arms and gently but insistently pulls you out of your niche in the garden.

Five minutes later, items acquired, you're pulling up dandelions that have somehow invaded the petunias. You like dandelions because they're cool and you can make wishes with them, but Asgore had asked you to at least try to separate them and the "actual" flowers, so you're doing your best to fulfill his request. You've gotten better at working with gloves, but you still have to sit back and take a break now and then to let your hands cool down.

You're doing so now, gloves sitting on your lap as you rub and shake your hands. You run a hand through your hair and fan your neck, irritated at how warm it is. You roll up the sleeves of your sweater and, putting back on your gloves, get back to work.

Your rhythm is thrown off when Asriel comes over with the watering can. Taking it from him with a nod, you water the petunias, daffodils, and buttercups.

As you hand the can back to Asriel, he abruptly says, "Oh, yeah!" You raise an eyebrow. He continues, "I just remembered – what were you doing last night?"

"I – what?"

"You said you had to go to the bathroom, but why'd you need to do that in the middle of the night?" he asks.

Why? To use the toilet, obviously.

Except monsters don't have toilets, you _idiot_. It's a _bath_ room. There's a tub, a showerhead, and a sink. Only _your_ white lies could be thrown off by something as simple as the fact that toilets are functionally pointless here.

"Oh! I, um, had to wash my face," you blurt. You obviously hadn't taken a shower, at least.

"Why?"

"Um – drool." Gross.

"Gross, haha!" Asriel's nose scrunches up, but he smiles. He takes the watering can and pours out the excess at the edge of the garden, the conversation already seemingly put in the back of his mind.

You breathe out. You're not sure what Toriel and Asgore have told him about their decision, if anything. And you've seen a jealous sibling – you don't want to be there when his parents tell Asriel that he's not an only child anymore.

* * *

" _Chara, Chara, Chara, Chara, Chara, Chara!_ "

You hold your knitting needles in front of yourself protectively as an excited nine-year-old monster barrels down the hallway. You hear him fumble with the doorknob for two seconds before the door bursts open.

"Chara, guess what!" Asriel says, just a _smidge_ too loudly. You don't get a chance to guess, though you have a feeling you know the answer. "Mom and Dad, they said, they said that you and me – and us, we, we're all, all a family, Chara, can you believe it?!" He's jumping up and down in the center of the room, unfazed but your knitting needles/impromptu self-defense sticks. He does a three-sixty spin and almost falls over, barely managing to stay upright. "Chara, you're – you're like my sibling, Chara; you _are_ my sibling, Chara! Isn't it, isn't it amazing!" And then he straight up _squeals._

You grin. All right, maybe you _should_ have been there when his parents told him.

You clear your throat. "Yeah, they told me about it this morning. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it, though."

"Are you kidding me?!" He waves his arms excitedly. "This is amazing and great and awesome and cool and – and – and –" He resorts to letting out another short yell, holding his hands together in front of his chest.

You laugh. "Yeah. I mean, I thought it was cool, too. You don't mind me sh-sharing your parents, or anything?"

"Of course not! They're mine and they're yours and they're ours!" His breathing is heavy; he seems to have tired himself out a little bit. You put your knitting aside and scoot over, motioning for Asriel to sit in the now open space at the foot of your bed. He smiles and flops down onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He looks back over at you. "Hey –" He cuts himself off and blinks. "What're you knitting?"

"I'm trying to knit a sweater," you say, unfazed by the abrupt change of subject. "But it's…harder than I thought it would be. Tor-M-Mom gave me a book, but it's kinda confusing sometimes." It feels weird and forced to call her that, yet somehow almost natural.

Asriel, at least, looks pleased (though, to be fair, he hasn't stopped looking pleased since he entered the room). "Are you knitting it for yourself?" he asks.

You tug at the edges of your sleeves. "Actually, no. I was going to at first, but I changed my mind. I want to knit one for Asgore – I mean, o-our dad." You pick up your attempt at knitting. "I wanted to make him something to say 'thank you' for all that he's done for me. A lot of the time I don't feel as close to him as I do to you and Toriel, but that doesn't mean that I don't like him as much, y'know?"

Asriel nods.

You continue, "Anyway, I remembered when you told me everyone's favorite colors, so I thought he'd like a pink one, but I'm not sure if I should have any color changes or any words. I want to make it special and personal, but I'm not sure how." Dilemma presented, you toss your needles and yarn on the bed between the two of you.

Asriel looks at your project intently, and then picks it up excitedly. "Make it say 'Dad'! That way, it'll be super special and personal because he's only two people's dad!"

Damn, you can't argue with that logic. You do anyway. "I can't do that," you protest. What if it's too assuming or informal or immature?

"Why not?" Asriel's shoulders slump as he hands it back to you.

You sigh. You don't want to make him sad. "All right, how about…Mr. Dad." There; much more formal.

Asriel laughs.

You flush. "What? Is that not good?"

"I think that –"

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. "No, you're right. It's too much. It needs something more."

Asriel scratches his head. "Um…How about Mr. Dad…Guy? 'Cause, that way it has the 'mister,' but it's also still cool, like Dad is!" He looks proud of himself.

You stare at him. Your face breaks into a grin. "Azzy, you're a genius!" You hold your knitting project at arm's length. "But now I'll have to learn how to do letters. This is gonna take forever," you groan.

"I bet it'll be worth it!" Asriel encourages. "It's gonna be the best Mr. Dad Guy sweater in the world!"

"It's going to be the _only_ –"

Asriel shushes you. "That's what I said." He giggles.

You huff. Can't argue with that logic.


	16. Avowal

**a vow' al - n.,** **an open statement of affirmation; frank acknowledgment or admission**

* * *

Toriel makes you take a bath the next morning. You're surprisingly okay with it. You ask her about how to knit a sweater with words on it. It takes a lot longer than you thought it would for her to explain. You swallow your pride and ask her to help you, and she looks positively elated. The day is slow, minus the part where you and Asriel race down the hall.

You can barely eat anything at breakfast the next morning. Since you ate plenty of dinner last night, Toriel lets it slide "just this once." You're grateful – you don't know if your stomach could handle any food just yet. You feel so nervous about tomorrow that you get nauseous just thinking about it. Having to walk outside on the way to school isn't the highlight of your day, but the excited look that Asriel gives you probably is.

Sleep has never come easily to you, but this time you're honestly unsure if you slept at all or just stared at the ceiling all night. You get the feeling that's not a good omen for what's to come.

* * *

 _You just need to smile! It won't be too hard._

You're standing in front of a huge crowd – bigger than you were expecting for one of the king's regular speeches. Then again, maybe you should have seen this coming. The king's been gone from the public eye for a month. The people were probably overwhelming curious about what he'd have to say when he came back.

 _Simply wave, my child. Do not worry about it._

Everyone already knew about the human. You've walked all the way through the Underground, even if you were too out of it to remember much at all; but that doesn't mean that monsters haven't been talking about you since you fell. And now a good portion of them are watching you in total silence.

 _You will not do anything wrong. Whatever you feel comfortable doing, do it._

You lift up your hand to your chest and wave it awkwardly. You try to give a smile. You clear your throat. "Hello."

You'd feared that the crowd would either stay silent, or burst into some sort of cacophony. Luckily, neither of those things happens. There's some polite applause, laughter, and a few people murmuring things to each other. For the most part, they all seem happy.

From his place at your side, Asriel bumps his shoulder against yours.

"See?" he whispers. "All you have to do is smile! You have a great smile!"

You snort and bump him back. "Yeah, whatever."

And you have to admit, that wasn't nearly as difficult as you were afraid it would be. One wave later, and you're officially introduced to the inhabitants of the Underground as Chara Dreemurr, adopted child of King Asgore and Queen Toriel.

Asgore talks more after your big reveal, but you aren't really paying attention for most of it. Since it's taking place right outside of New Home, you and Asriel are free to sit against the side of the house and talk amongst yourselves. You think about the Dreemurrs' house; when you'd first seen it, its size and color had made it look like a palace, but now that you've seen the inside, you can't help but think that the outside is pretty simple too. Or maybe you're just trying to see it as normally as you can to make yourself feel better about everything. You're still having trouble wrapping your head around…well, everything, but you feel like that's fair. You have a family that cares about you and likes you and gives you things and lets you garden. It's – it's ridiculous. You're allowed to feel weird about it all.

You purposefully squash the seed of doubt that keeps telling you that you don't deserve this. You know you don't, but that doesn't mean that you can't enjoy it. You'll have your own damn family if you want to, and that'll be that.

Asriel's talking about something; you're content to let him ramble, but then you hear him ask a question. "What's your favorite color?"

You open your mouth, then close it. You frown. What _is_ your favorite color? "Um." Is it yellow? That would make the most sense. It's one of the colors on yours and Asriel's shirts; it's the color of the buttercups. You could say gold if you wanted to be super fancy. Green is a nice color – the other sweater color, and the color of grass and the outdoors. It's Asriel's favorite color, too. (Asgore's is pink, and Toriel's is purple). You should probably pick one of those. "Red," you find yourself saying.

Asriel looks surprised. "Really? I wouldn't think that you'd like it cause –" He cuts himself off. "I, uh, I mean. Red is cool!"

You cock your head. "Why wouldn't I like it? It's an alright color."

Asriel scratches the side of his head. "Well, I know that you don't really like, like your eyes, so…"

You bring your hand to your cheek. Oh. So that was the wrong answer. You sigh. "It's not that I dislike my eyes; they're just different. Honestly, they're kinda cool! But everyone else…no one else likes them, but they're pretty unique, I guess."

Asriel smiles brightly. "Good! They're super cool." He pauses. "Why didn't other humans like them?"

You shrug. "Humans are dumb."

Asriel scrunches his nose. "But you're a human."

"Exactly. Humans are dumb."

Asriel laughs. "Don't be silly! You're not dumb."

You hum.

Luckily, Asgore ends his speech so Asriel can't push anything. You stand as the crowd mills around, most of them already turning to head back to their homes.

Toriel's standing outside the door, waiting for you and Asriel. "See, my child?" she says, smiling. "You had nothing to worry about."

You have to admit, you probably were freaking out a little bit more than was necessary these past couple of days. You haven't been able to sit still, and your sleep hasn't exactly been restful. By morning, you were mostly fine, but in the dark you couldn't fight off all the little doubts that kept nagging at you. Everyone noticed and tried to help. Asgore took you down to the garden after dinner and made you tea before bed and was generally just a solid wall of support. Toriel helped you a bit with the sweater that you're knitting for Asgore; she said that he's going to love it, especially the wording. And Asriel didn't really change all that much, which was possibly the best one.

"What do you want for dinner?" Toriel asks once you're all inside.

You defer to Asriel; he says, "Pie!"

You expect Toriel to shake her head in exasperation, but after a short pause, she says, "All right."

You surreptitiously high-five Asriel. He looks proud of himself.

"I hope she puts lots of cinnamon in it," you say with a grin.

Asriel sticks his tongue out at you. However, he's quickly over your teasing, saying, "C'mon, let's go play!" He takes off towards your room, leaving you to trail behind.

"What do you want to play?" you ask.

"You pick!"

You look around the room, eyes landing on your bed. "Do you want to learn how to knit?"

Asriel looks like he's about to protest, but when you turn to him with pleading eyes, he relents. "All right. But don't be mean if I'm super bad at it."

You bring a hand to your chest in mock indignation. "Why, I would never!" You gather your supplies. "Besides, you can't be _that_ bad."

* * *

When Toriel comes to get you two for dinner, she has to untangle Asriel from a mess of yarn. You're unable to help because you can't stop laughing.

Asriel keeps his head ducked in shame. He mumbles, "I bet you've been doing this for a long time so this isn't fair." When Toriel finally gets the last of the yarn off of him, he crosses his arms across his chest and refuses to look at you.

"Nope!" you say cheerfully.

"They only learned recently," Toriel confirms, trying to hide a smile. She puts a hand on Asriel's shoulder. "Not everyone can learn, child. Besides, Chara learned from me." She lowers her voice. "Secondhand information is not always the most reliable." You feel your cheeks burn and you look away. Toriel stands. "Now, both of you, come on. Today has been a wonderful day; do not attempt to make it less-so by being silly."

Asriel finally looks up at you. "Sorry for being silly."

You try to appear nonchalant. "Same." You tug on the ends of your sleeves. "And don't worry about it."

Asriel scratches his arm as you follow Toriel to the kitchen. "So, you never did anything like that on the surface?" He doesn't sound resentful, just curious.

You shake your head. "I never could."

"Why not?"

You shrug. Eyes widening, you point at the table. "Oh! That looks really good," you tell Toriel.

She smiles. "Thank you, my child."

The dish in the middle of the table doesn't exactly look like a pie, but it does look delicious. You and Asriel take your regular seats. Asgore is already sitting at the table, presumably because he set it. He smiles at you when you sit down, and you smile back.

"Before you get your hopes up too high," Toriel says as she takes her seat, "they are not dessert pies. They are cottage pies!"

You furrow your eyebrows. "What's that?"

Asriel looks surprised. "You've never had one?"

You shake your head. Toriel puts a serving on your plate. "Mashed potatoes, carrots, peas, and meat," she says. "It is one of Gorey's favorite dishes!"

"Main courses, perhaps." Asgore chuckles. "Nothing can beat your desserts, dear." He grabs Toriel's hand and they literally spend, like, ten seconds just looking at each other. Gross. Cute, but gross.

Since the adults are distracted, you ask Asriel, "Wait, is this shepherd's pie?"

"Um, I think it can be called that," he confirms. He grins. "So you _have_ had it!"

You shake your head. "I just know what it is."

"How can you know what it is but you've never had it?"

You shrug and take a bite. It's surprisingly tasty. Your brother always hated it when your mother would make shepherd's – _no._ Don't think of them like that – he's not you brother, and she is not your mother. Your family is sitting right in front of you. Don't think about _them_. You like _cottage pie_ ; so does your brother. So does your brother!

"Chara, do you like it?" Toriel asks.

 _Chara Dreemurr_ – that's your name, and this is your family.

"Yeah! It's really good."

"A wonderful end to a wonderful day," Asgore adds.

You wonder why Toriel and Asgore keep saying that – the day has been unremarkable except for you having to wave at a crowd. Maybe they're just happy that you didn't mess anything up. You can see how that would have been embarrassing; they're acting like proud parents, and then their child gets on stage and does something dumb. That would have been just like you. You're glad that nothing bad happened this time, but you feel like you should stay away from risky situations for a while so you don't push your luck.

In an unsurprising twist, Toriel brings out two pies for dessert after everyone's finished eating.

"What flavors are they?" Asriel asks excitedly.

"One is cinnamon and one is snail," Toriel says, not giving any indication as to which is which.

You and Asriel share a glance.

"I would like for both of you to try a bite of each," she continues.

"I would like a slice of each," Asgore chimes in. Toriel hits him without looking at him.

Asriel makes a face. You feel the same way, but you don't want to be rude. You love Toriel's cooking, but you just can't imagine _snails_ tasting good. Still, you say, "All right." Asriel looks nauseous. You sit up straight and kick him under the table. "Don't look so glum. Cinnamon is awesome."

"I would rather eat nothing except for snails for forever than eat cinnamon," Asriel protests.

"That's 'cause you're wimpy. I like trying new things." You turn to Toriel and nod. She seems to be holding back a smile. She obliges, though, and puts a small piece of snail pie on your plate. It's…green. The normally delicious-looking filling has turned into a thick slime.

Asriel huffs. "I'm not a wimp! Besides, I've already had cinnamon before." You give him a look. "Fine, I'll try it." This time, Toriel does laugh. She gives Asriel a piece of the warm cinnamon pie; it smells amazing. Yours smells like…nothing. It makes you nervous.

You and Asriel take a bite at the same time. You feel your face scrunch up, but you try to make it as neutral as possible. Eugh. The texture is….and it tastes like….

"Um," you say.

"Eugh," Asriel says.

"Can I have cinnamon now?" you plead.

Toriel switches yours and Asriel's plates, putting more of each pie onto them. Your shoulders sag in relief.

"Thank you," you say.

"Thanks, Mom," Asriel chirps, digging into his dessert.

You hide a frown by taking another bite. Should you have said "mom," too?

You stab your fork into your dessert. Stop thinking like that! Stop over-thinking everything! It's fine; it'll all be fine. Everyone keeps saying that today was a good day, so that means that it _was_ a good day. There are only a few hours left; don't ruin it.

"Chara?" Toriel sounds concerned. You look up. "Are you all right?"

Oh. Whoops. No plate-stabbing at the dinner table. You smile, but it feels a little forced. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just still kinda wound-up."

Asgore nods. "That is perfectly understandable," he says. "I can certainly see how it could be a stressful situation, and I am proud of you for doing this. I am…" Asgore seemed to have run out of words for a moment, but he continues, "I am overjoyed that you …" He trails off again, and you noticed that his eyes look watery.

You do not know how to deal with that.

Toriel does. She puts her hand on Asgore's for a moment, then stands. She gestures to you and Asriel. "Clean up your dishes, please, children. I will wash them later; just put them in the sink for now."

You get out of your chair, but you need to do something before you leave. You cross over to Asgore and lift up your arms a little bit. He chuckles and takes the hint, opening his arms as well. You move in for a hug. You're always amazed at how nice it can be to let your guard down. You hear Asgore sniffle, but you don't think that he's actually going to cry. You stay right where you are anyway.

You hear Asriel gather up the plates, and you think that you hear Toriel follow him.

You let a few tears come to your eyes. You feel so happy that it's almost too much. You feel like a container that was never meant to hold much (if any) kindness to begin with, and now people keep giving you so much, so much that you don't know what to do with it. Hugging Asgore makes you think about all those weeks ago – you don't even know exactly how long. You feel like you just met these people. You feel like you've known them for your whole life. You feel like your time with them _has_ been your whole life. A real life.

"Thank you," you whisper. He can't possibly know why you're saying it. You feel like he does.

"You're very, very welcome, Chara. Thank _you_."

It takes you a second to respond, but you get out, "You're welcome, too." Thank you for what, though? You have ideas, but you can't focus on any of them. Everything seems quiet and muted. And you suddenly feel impulsive. You should just let go and smile and say goodnight. Let go. Let go. You say, "Do real dads give hugs?" You want to cut out your selfish tongue.

Asgore's shoulders shake a little bit, and you honestly can't tell if he's laughing or crying. "Yes," he responds. "Yes, they do."

"Okay," you whisper. You want to apologize. "Thank you," you say again.

"Of course," he says. You feel like it's significant. You feel like you might cry.

You wonder how long you can wait before he pushes you away.

You suddenly realize that he won't.

You start crying.

Unlike the first time this happened, it doesn't become a group hug. Asriel must be helping Toriel with the dishes because you don't hear anyone come in the room and Asgore seems to be fine with letting you cry.

You blink hard and take the responsibility of being the first one to pull away. You notice that Asgore was crying, too.

You're biting your tongue so hard that you feel like you might draw blood. But you have to know. "Is it really okay if I call you Dad?" Your voice barely audible, even to you.

Asgore brushes away another tear. "I would be honored." He sounds serious and, indeed, honored. "I want you to be comfortable, but it is…" He pauses again. "It is the highest compliment I could ever receive." He doesn't even add _"from you."_ Just, that. As though it's an undeniable fact.

You can only nod because your throat feels tight. You smile, and he smiles back.

"It is time for bed, I believe," he adds. "Sleep well, Chara."

"You too." You want to say it, but your mouth cuts off the word.

Asgore doesn't seem to care that you didn't; in fact, he still looks like he's on the verge of tears, so maybe it's better that you don't say it just yet.

You hear footsteps and turn to see Asriel and Toriel exiting the kitchen.

You quickly rub your eyes to make sure there are no tears left.

Toriel smiles at you. "I believe that it is time for bed, yes?" You nod. "Go on then, children. Asriel, thank you for your help. Sleep well, you two."

"'Night, Mom; love you!" She pulls him into a hug, which he squirms out of. "Goodnight, Dad!" He simply waves at Asgore, and then looks at you expectantly.

"Goodnight," you say. Toriel pulls you into a hug as well. You pull away like Asriel did, but it's mostly because you're afraid that you'll start crying again. (It's partially because that's what Asriel did, and he's probably a bit more knowledgeable in this area than you are; "this area" referring to hugging one's parents.)

Asriel doesn't say anything while you and he change into your pajamas. He doesn't comment when you take your clothes from that day down to the bathroom to put in the dirty clothes bin. But when you're brushing your hair, he speaks up.

"Were you crying earlier?"

You stiffen involuntarily. To be fair, you do cry it often enough – much more often than you'd like – but there seems to be an unspoken truce between you and everyone else that once you've stopped, it doesn't need to be brought up. Toriel never mentioned that time when you freaked out because Asriel called you _pretty_ , you doubt that Asgore will bring up your breakdown again, and no one ever really talks about your freakouts – er, 'panic attacks.' So why is he asking? Still, it was pretty obvious that you were, so it'd be pointless to lie.

"Yeah," you say shortly. Maybe if you don't elaborate, he'll drop it.

"Why?"

No such luck. You set down your hairbrush but refuse to look at Asriel. "Why does it matter?"

You can almost hear Asriel searching for words. "Because, because…" And failing.

You sigh and look over at him. "I'm fine now, Azzy. It was no big deal, I promise. You don't need to worry about me."

Some of the tension drains out of him, but he still looks uncomfortable. "Did – Dad didn't make you cry, did he?" Asriel blurts.

You almost laugh. You shake your head. "Not in the way that you're thinking. I cried because I was happy, not upset."

Asriel ducks his head, but he looks relieved. "Oh. Sorry."

You cross the room to sit on the edge of his bed. "No, don't be. It means a lot to me that you…care so much." Your cheeks feel red. You hope it's disguised by the dim light from the lamp. "I don't think you guys could ever upset me like that," you say, voice quieter. "You're all just so, so kind and amazing. You especially, Asriel." He is. Asriel is special. You love Toriel. She can be stern, but she's always gentle. She's good with words and she knows what to say. Half the time, she knows what you need before you think to ask. And Asgore is _there_ – not there in the way that your old father was _there._ He was present in a room; Asgore's presence was in a room. Asgore is strong; Asgore believes in you.

But Asriel – he's childish. He's petulant. He cries without remorse. He asks dumb questions. He pries into your business. But he holds your hand. He calms you down to the best of his abilities. He keeps your secrets. He learns. He tries. He does his best. And damn if he isn't a good listener.

Your stomach feels weird. You want to keep talking to him, but you don't know what to say. You want to tell him; you want to _tell_ him.

You look at the bed, avoiding Asriel's eyes. "My father – my old father – never hugged…anyone." You twirl the ends of your hair in between your fingers. "He didn't really…He wasn't really…." You lick your lips and try again. "Um, my old mom, she was…she did…." You huff and close your eyes. This isn't working. You shake your head a little bit. "I'm sorry. Never mind. Don't worry about it." Asriel looks like he wants to say something else. You give him a hard look. "For real, Azzy, drop it." Lowering your voice slightly, you add, "Please."

Asriel still looks like he wants an explanation, but he just says, "I'm sorry." He sighs and decides to change the subject. "Do you wanna sleep in my bed?"

You shrug.

You stay in his bed while he gets up to turn off the lamp. He adjusts himself so that you can lie down on the outside of the bed, so you're not sandwiched between him and the wall. You both get under the covers. You feel wound up and drained at the same time, so you don't know if you'll stay awake all night or fall asleep right away.

In the darkness, you feel like you should be quieter. "Goodnight," you whisper. "And thanks."

"Goodnight," Asriel whispers. "And it's okay."

You fall asleep right away.

* * *

A few days later, you're standing outside of the kitchen. It's early, and you were able to get out of the room without waking Asriel. You fidget with the ends of your sleeves as you stall for time.

 _It won't be that hard. It can't be that hard._

Oh, yes it can.

It's not like you haven't already all-but done it! This shouldn't be difficult!

You shift your weight and tug at the ends of your hair lightly, gathering your courage. You take a deep breath. You can do this. You _want_ to do this. You know that you don't have to, but you're feeling confident about today. Today is going to be a good day.

The words taste weird in your mouth.

"Good morning, Mom," you say softly, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Toriel's movements stutter, but when she turns to you, her face shows nothing but happiness. "Good morning, my child! Would you like to help with breakfast?" she asks, as if you have done nothing out of the ordinary.

You nod, and she quickly designates you a few tasks to do. You marvel at how normal everything seems; how easy it is. You help Toriel make pancakes – plain, blueberry, and chocolate chip. "Help," of course, refers mostly to clean-up duty. You're allowed to mix in the blueberries and chocolate chips, though (as Toriel watches, of course). You sneak a chocolate chips when Toriel's not looking. It fills you with adrenaline. That's something a kid would do! That's something Asriel would do!

"Could you go get Asriel, please, Chara?" Toriel asks.

You wake up Asriel and ask him to help you set the table.

"Why are you up already?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

"I helped M-Mom make breakfast. Pancakes!"

If Asriel noticed your stutter, he either ignored it or, more likely, got distracted by the food. He hops (falls) out of bed and helps you set the table.

Asriel totally drenches his pancakes in syrup. You sniff. Heathen. You, of course, slather your pancakes with butter. Who could eat chocolate chip pancakes without butter?

Asgore offers to clean up, and while he's occupied, Toriel asks you if you need any help with the sweater you're knitting. You nod, and you end up spending most of the day with Toriel in her room while she explains how to change colors and add letters.

You wonder what Asriel's up to, but you're not able to spare him too many thoughts. You're sure that he's fine – either coloring or playing with Asgore, you would assume.

For some reason, the quiet of the house – being broken up only by the _clank-clank_ of knitting needles – is unsettling.

* * *

The next two days pass in a similar fashion. You're almost relieved when the day comes for you and your family (your family!) to walk around the Underground because it means that there's no food to be cooked, no sweaters to be knitted, and no math problems to be solved.

Ugh, math sucks.

Asgore helps you brush your hair. You smile up at him when he's done. "Thanks!"

He almost ruffles your hair but quickly cuts himself off. You giggle. "Of course, Chara," he says instead.

You follow him out the door when it's time to leave, but then you slow down and wait for Asriel. His eyes light up when you do that. It makes your chest feel weird. You both reach out a hand at the same time.

"Try not to let go this time," you try to comment lightly. It comes out as desperate.

He squeezes your hand. "I promise."

For some reason, that makes you feel better.

Toriel has already given you a talk about being careful while you're out. You'll be following Asgore, who will walk in front, and Toriel will follow behind to make sure that you don't get lost. It seems like a foolproof system. You really hope that you don't somehow mess it up. At least this time, you won't be cornered by ill-intentioned monsters with no one there to help.

Asriel tugs your hand forward, and you walk quickly to catch up. You want to stay by his side, not behind him. He slows his pace a bit. He looks over at you, and you can almost hear the, _Are you okay?_ You tense, and he must get the message because he just smiles at you and waves at a monster over your shoulder. You turn and see a one-eyed monster who looks at you and Asriel nervously. You smile at it, and it brightens up considerably. With that mission accomplished, you glance around.

It's nowhere near as crowded as it was when you first attempted to go on a round. Maybe since most of the population has had a chance to see you, they're not as curious as they were the first time. You glance up at Asgore. He's smiling at people and greeting them like old friends, even when it's clear that he's not overly familiar with someone. He's a good people-person. He's a good leader, you think. You wonder how power hasn't gone to his head. That's what always happens with monarchs, isn't it?

(The word makes you think of Asriel. You smile.)

Maybe that's just another way that monsters are different from humans, though. It wouldn't surprise you if that were the case. Monsters are more reasonable, nicer, and –

A Whimsun blocks the way.

You freeze. Asriel, who was about to walk around the Whimsun and give it a courteous wave, doesn't stop until he feels your hand almost slip out of his. He looks back at you in confusion, and then alarm.

"Chara? What's wrong?" he asks worriedly.

You open your mouth, and then close it. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. "M-my, um, stomach started really hurting."

"Are you okay?" Asriel sounds panicked.

"I'm fine," you snap. But it's a justified snapping, so you don't worry about apologizing. You take another deep breath, but when you open your eyes, there's no Whimsun to be seen. You actually do feel a bit sick to your stomach now. Did you imagine that? Why would a Whimsun randomly walk up to the prince of the Underground, anyway? Why would it just stand – er, float there, and then run away? And you can't ask, _"Hey, was there a Whimsun there, or am I insane?"_ because you have a feeling that the answer might be the latter.

Asriel looks at his parents. "Do you wanna tell Mom and Dad? Do you wanna go home?"

"I said I'm fine!" You take your hand of his and sigh. "Don't treat me like I'm a freakin' baby." Asriel immediately begins apologizing, but you cut him off. "Come on, let's just…keep going before Toriel and Asgore realize that we stopped." You cross your arms in front of your chest and keep walking forward, knowing that Asriel will follow you.

He does.

You make it to Hotland without any further incidents. By that time, you've let Asriel hold your hand again. You pass by Gaster's lab, and you wonder if you're all going to stop by, but Asgore keeps walking. You're closer to Toriel and Asgore than you were outside of New Home, so you take the opportunity to ask Asgore about the stark climate changes when you reach Waterfall.

"Wonderful question, but I'm afraid that it does not have a very wonderful answer," Asgore says with an apologetic smile. "We do not know. Oddly enough, it was this way when we arrived, for the most part. Of course, it is not unusual to have water underground like we have here." You nod. "Still, though I feel that in a way, the creatures living in certain areas enabled and enhanced the specific climate of that area. For example, a Pyrope living in Hotland will only serve to make it hotter, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." You still think that it's weird, though.

You let the conversation dwindle off and take in the environment around you.

You decide that you definitely prefer Waterfall over Hotland. You blink and abruptly realize that Asgore must have named both locations. Your shoulders shake with silent laughter. Asriel sends you a questioning look, but you shake your head.

"It's really pretty here," you comment, changing the subject.

Asriel grins. "Yeah! All the monsters that live here are super nice, too. There's this one named Shyren, and I don't get to see her a lot, but I like to say hi when I do. I don't think that she has a lot of friends."

You kick a pebble near your foot. "Nothing wrong with only having a few friends."

Asriel snorts. "Of course there isn't! I pretty much only have you."

"Yeah, well," you say, and shrug. For some reason his comment makes you happy.

After a few minutes, you start noticing recurring blue flowers.

"What are those?" you ask, pointing at one.

"Oh," Asriel says, "those are echo flowers. They're actually really neat! They repeat the last thing that they heard. Come on, I'll show you."

Asriel drags you a bit off the path, but you're still near enough that Toriel can easily see you.

The echo flower is light blue and seems almost ethereal. Asriel lets go of your hand and leans in close, whispering something to it. He moves back and gestures you forward. You raise an eyebrow, but do what he wants.

 _"Chara is a nerd."_

You snort and close your eyes, shaking your head. Your own short laugh is echoed back at you, which makes you laugh louder.

Asriel giggles.

"Asriel? Chara?" Toriel calls. "Come along, we are still moving!"

You move back to the path and shove Asriel's shoulder; he grabs your hand in response.

You do end up meeting Shyren – well, "meeting" is the wrong word. You see her standing in the corner, staring at you all as you pass. Asriel is still telling you about echo flowers, and you don't want to interrupt him. You glance over at the Shyren and smile at her. Her only response is to curl in on herself and avoid your eyes.

Oh. Well. That's fine.

 _Even monsters with no friends hate you,_ you think.

 _Fuck off,_ you think back. You already know that she's just shy. Besides, what do you care about some random monster's manners, or lack thereof? You decide not to worry about it.

"So like, I guess you could use them in pranks, but that seems like too much work to me," Asriel finishes.

You hum in agreement.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, you see Asgore stop. He turns to a doorway in the wall and starts talking to someone. You and Asriel slow down until Toriel is by your side.

"Who's he talking to?" you ask her.

"An old friend," she answers, smiling. "Greetings, Gerson!"

You look up at the monster that they're speaking to; it's looking at you, too. The monster's wearing a hat and a vest and has the beginnings of a goatee, despite the fact that it looks like it's a turtle. You not sure what to say, but you figure that you probably won't say the wrong thing if you attempt to follow Toriel's lead. "Greetings."

The monster's face scrunches up, and it takes you a moment to realize that it – Gerson – is smiling.

It laughs. "So, you all came here! Isn't that a treat?" Its voice is rough and scratchy, and even though it's talking to everyone, it doesn't take its eyes off you.

"Chara," Asgore says, "meet Gerson. He and I have known each other for a very long time."

Gerson jerks a thumb at Asgore. "And this one thinks that he doesn't have to visit me anymore since I put down my hammer and opened up shop!"

Asgore sighs. "Really, Gerson? That is an exaggeration. I visit you every time I pass through Waterfall."

Gerson cackles. "Oh, come off it, Dreemurr! When will this guy learn to take a joke, hm?" he asks, winking at Toriel. "Now," he continues without waiting for a response. You get the feeling that Gerson really likes talking. "You're the human, are you?"

You glance at Asriel, who shrugs. You nod.

"What's your name, then?"

"Don't you already know it?" you ask, confused.

Gerson raises an eyebrow. "I didn't ask anyone else, kid – I asked you! I hear things through the grapevine, sure, but I've never been sure how reliable a Temmie's gossip is!"

"Chara," you answer, partially just so that he'll stop rambling.

That, of course, sets him off again, and he laughs loudly. "I guess I should give them more credit! Hm, don't suppose you're lookin' to buy anything, are you?"

Toriel shakes her head. "No, none of us need anything; thank you, Gerson. We really should keep going, you know. We want to get home in time for dinner."

"Best hurry on then," Gerson agrees, grinning. He turns to you and Asriel. "You kids let me know if you're in the area and you wanna buy something! I might even give you a discount."

Asriel's eyes widen. "Whoa, really?"

Gerson laughs. "No!"

"All right, then; Asriel, Chara, let's keep going," Toriel says.

Once you're sure that he's out of earshot, you turn to Asriel and whisper, "Gerson is kinda weird."

"Yeah," Asriel agrees, "but he's pretty cool too."

You shrug. "If you say so." You rub your arm when you realize that it's getting steadily colder.

Asriel notices and smiles widely. "Snowdin!"

Snowdin is…well, snowy. It's odd going from an equilibrium of everything in New Home, then to the exhausting heat of Hotland – and _then_ the dampness of Waterfall that caused your hair to frizz up an annoying amount – and now it's winter. You sigh, and then shiver because you abruptly regret wearing shorts. Still, though, you're ridiculously grateful that the snow isn't soaking through your shoes. Wet socks are the worst.

Asgore and Toriel are talking to some fuzzy monsters that you've never seen before, but Asriel drags you through the city.

"Come on! I want you to meet the Snowdin shopkeeper!"

You pass a library and what looks like a brand new restaurant, and then finally find yourself in front of a store.

When you walk in, you're greeted by the scent of baked goods and the sight of a young bunny-like monster who's wearing a hat and a necklace. (It's a fashionable necklace, you notice. It's kinda pretty.) The monster smiles at you as you walk in.

Asriel introduces you – kind of. "Hi!" he says to the shopkeeper. He gestures at you. "This is Chara, my sibling." (You totally don't smile widely at that comment. You just grin a little bit.) "I wanted to show them my favorite person in all of Snowdin!" Turning to you, he adds, "She just opened this shop a while back, and it's already super awesome."

The monster laughs. "You're a right charmer, Dreemurr!" she says, and Asriel grins. "What brings you all the way out here? Mom and Dad decided that you need some fresh air, huh?"

Asriel shakes his head and pouts. "We're doing rounds again, and Dad said we had to come."

"He said that _you_ had to come," you point out. When the shopkeeper turns her gaze on you, you look down. Your cheeks feel hot. She seems really nice, you think. And pretty. For a bunny. She's nice to look at. And just nice. She _seems_ nice, that is.

Moving on.

"My sister and I argue all the time too," the store owner comments with a smile.

You stiffen and immediately decide that she is extremely not nice and not pretty. "I'm not his _sister_ ," you bite out.

Asriel makes a small, upset noise – he probably just realized what she'd said, too.

But the clerk just smiles. "I know, I heard. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable – I was just talkin' about _my_ sister. You're a sibling, I know."

"Oh." You flush. You're about to apologize, but Asriel interrupts.

"We should probably go," he says. "Mom and Dad won't let us stay in any one place for too long."

The shopkeeper nods. "Be seeing you around, then." She straightens up. "Oh! Before you run off, I've a special something for you." She disappears behind the counter and re-emerges with what smells like a cinnamon roll – only difference being that this thing has ears. It's a cinnamon bun-ny!

Asriel opens and closes his mouth a few times – probably trying to find a way to politely decline, you assume. "That's super nice of you, but I don't think my mom would want for me to have any sweets before dinner!" If not for the tell-tale higher pitch, he could almost pass himself off a competent liar.

The shopkeeper chuckles and waves a hand. "Now, I think she'll make an exception just this once – consider it a birthday gift!" She pushes the treat across the counter.

You find yourself replaying what she just said in your head. _Birthday?_

Asriel smiles, and the clerk doesn't seem to notice that it's forced. "Okay, thank you." He takes the cinnamon bun with one hand and reaches for your hand with the other. "Bye bye!" he calls back, halfway dragging you out of the store.

"See you!" the shopkeeper calls.

Once the door has closed behind you, Asriel hands you the cinnamon bunny. "Here, you can have it." He turns to lead you back to the library, where Toriel and Asgore are talking to couple of bear-looking monsters.

Your eyes light up when he gives you the snack. You bite off an ear (it's absolutely _delicious_ ) before bringing up what the clerk had said. "Is today your birthday?" You can't help but feel hurt that he hadn't told you.

Asriel shakes his head. "It's in a couple days."

You frown. "When were you planning on telling me?" You know that you sound petulant, but you have a right to be upset. Was he just never going to mention it? Would he have had a party? You wake up and, _"Oh hey, Chara, we're just eating cake because it's my birthday! Don't stick around!"_ You pout and eat the bunny's other ear. That was probably exaggerated. Probably.

You're almost to the library, but you turn off to a little path on the left and walk up. You don't want to talk to Asgore and Toriel yet.

Asriel follows you, looking a little bemused. "It's not that –"

You pull your hand out of his with a huff and keep walking. "It _is_ a big deal! You're gonna be ten! Double digits! And you didn't even _mention_ it to me." You're waving your arms around with more vigor than is necessary, but you're upset, damn it. You sigh and let your arms fall to your sides. "I thought we were best friends." You can feel the vitriol from your words even as you say them. You swing your foot and kick up some snow as you try to explain yourself. "I mean….I'm just upset that you haven't told me." You do feel kinda bad – you're just being rude and assuming. You walking stop when you reach a body of water and turn to face Asriel.

He looks like he's struggling with what to say, but then his features abruptly harden. "Well, but…A-and how is that fair?" he blurts. "You, you haven't told me anything about you! Hardly! And you never talk about – about your life on the surface! I don't know a lot of things about you so how can you just e-expect me to tell you everything?"

You blink and meet his eyes. "Asriel, it's just your freaking birthday!" What the hell? Why is he blowing up? You huff. "Calm down, jeez. I just wanted to know."

Instead of following your advice, Asriel crosses his arms. "Yeah, well, you haven't told me _your_ birthday!"

You almost roll your eyes. "Azzy, that's different." Why is he making such a big deal out of everything? You only even _know_ your birthday because you shared it with old your brother; it's not a day that you want celebrated.

Asriel looks torn between calming down and continuing on; he goes with the latter. "It shouldn't be!" he almost yells. His breathing is shallow, but he still spits out, "You – you haven't even told me your _real_ name!"

You feel your stomach drop. Your hands start shaking. Your mouth opens and closes, and you can feel your cheeks burning while your breaths get short. "I-I-I – Chara _is_ my name." Your voice cracks on the last word.

Asriel doesn't stop. "No, it's not! When you first came here, you told me that Chara was just what you _wanted_ your name to be! You won't even tell me that much!"

"And I shouldn't _have_ to!" You throw down the half-eaten cinnamon bun. You ball your hands into fists, trying to keep them stiffly at your sides. "Because it's – it's different! Fuck you!" You tug at your hair with both hands and screw your eyes closed. "Calm down, just calm the hell down!"

This is dumb; this is completely idiotic. How can you get him to chill out? ( _Fucking hell, now is_ not _the time for snow puns._ )

"Listen, okay, did you ever think that there was a reason that I wanted to stay with you guys? That I didn't want to go back?" Your stomach is still tied in knots and you hate this; you don't want to talk; you shouldn't have to talk. "I wanted to tell you: I tried to tell you - I hated it up there! I hated them! And I don't want to think about my birthday or my real name or my real family, I just want to forget _everything_! I wanted to leave so bad that I was willing to fucking –" You stop and you realize that you're crying. _Dumb, dumb, dumb, stop it._ You wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve, annoyed that you started crying. "So if y-you could…just fucking calm down…." Your shoulders slump. You feel any and all energy drain out of you. You close your eyes because, even in this open area, you still feel crowded.

For a minute, the only thing you can hear is your harsh breathing. Then you hear snow crunching under Asriel's feet, and you think, _I messed up, he's leaving_. But then you feel him reach for your hand. You open your eyes. Oh, he's crying too. With your free hand, you rub at your eyes and cheeks to get rid of any tear tracks. With the other, you tighten your grip on Asriel's hand. For once, you really regret blowing up. "Sorry," you say, and it sounds a bit weird and not totally sincere, but Asriel tries for a watery smile.

"It's okay. I'm really sorry for…I shouldn't have done that. You don't have to talk about your family and stuff on the surface if you don't want to."

On some level, though, you do want to talk about it. You want to tell him everything; about your family, about the kids and the adults that were terrible, about never being able eat what you wanted – never getting to pick a meal – never having a favorite _anything_ because having a favorite was pointless, and even the things that you did end up liking got destroyed, and about how you're scared to death that you're going to hurt him, hurt them all, because you've never done anything good, but you're so selfish and spoiled that you just can't do it – you _want_ to stay with them, and that even though everything should be good now you _still_ think about _it_ even though you don't need to, even though it's not really serious, but there are times when it's dark and you suddenly wonder what would happen if you just fell down again.

You say, "Thank you."

With a much more convincing smile, Asriel says, "It's okay. Come on, let's go meet up with Mom and Dad."

You rub at your eyes again, even though you're not crying anymore. "Okay."

You reach out for Asriel's hand. He takes it without question. You're holding onto him too tightly, but he just lightly squeezes your hand and whispers, "It's okay."

And it's okay.


	17. Recommence

**Unless otherwise stated, these chapters are all being beta'd by Sheridan ( sheridanblog on tumblr)!**

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 **re com mence' - v., to begin again after a pause or interruption  
**

* * *

It's a rather touching moment, if you do say so yourself, but you're abruptly snapped out of it when you hear something moving through the water. You look over to see a figure wearing a dark blue cloak standing in a wooden boat. The person – monster? – doesn't speak.

"Oh, hello!" Asriel says with a smile.

You bump your shoulder against his and whisper, "Who is this?"

"I have no clue," he whispers back.

The figure inclines their head. "I do not have a name," they say in a slow, steady voice.

"Oh! Um, well, I'm Asriel! Nice to meet you!" Asriel hits you lightly.

"Uh, I'm, uh – I'm Chara." _Wonderful_ – _could you possibly be any less eloquent?_

The figure nods again. "All I have is my boat. All I have is the river. Would you like to join me for a ride?"

"I don't think I'm allowed to ride in boats with strangers," Asriel says.

The figure doesn't react.

You clear your throat. "I can't either, sorry."

Another nod. "Perhaps another time, then."

"Yeah – I mean, perhaps!" Asriel says. "We should probably go now. Bye!" He tugs at your hand, and you let him drag you away. You don't look over your shoulder as you and Asriel walk back to find Toriel and Asgore.

Well, that was…somehow even weirder than Gerson. You're just relieved that it seems to have broken the tense, fragile moment that you and Asriel had found yourselves in.

"Asriel, Chara – are you ready to leave?" Toriel asks when she sees you two.

"Yeah! The shopkeeper gave Chara a cinnamon bunny," he tells her.

You squeeze his hand, suddenly feeling guilty for wasting it. It had been _really_ good, too, damn it. And besides, you don't want to think about that whole situation.

You just nod when Toriel asks you if you enjoyed it and, of course, shake your head no when she asks you if it was better than her pie. Nothing could beat Mom's p – Toriel's pie. Mom's pie? You grit your teeth. Jeez, you've either got to be all-in or all-out! Stop being such a self-doubting baby about everything. Mom, Mom, Mom. There. Now Toriel is your mom.

Your walk through the rest of the snow-filled area is, mostly, uneventful. There's snow, snow, a tree, a snowy tree, and more snow. It's exceedingly unremarkable, until a young monster who's using a snowball as a hat runs up to you. You and Asriel stop walking. It stares at you in silence for a long moment.

"Are you okay?" the kid asks.

You look at Asriel for support. He shrugs.

The monster tugs at your sweater insistently. "Are you okay?" it repeats.

"Um…yes…?" you answer haltingly. "Why do you ask?

"'Cause my mommy said you fallen down." It inspects you with a critical eye. "But you don't look sick!" Suddenly grinning, it pats your leg. "Then you're okay, 'cause you said you're okay, so that's okay!"

"Oh!" you say in understanding. "No, no, no, I'm not sick." You crouch down and take a knee, pointing towards the sky. "I was up there, but then I found a hole and went through it – and I came down here!" You show this story with your hands. The monster seems to be following along, so you continue, "Since I was high up when I started, and the ending was down low, I had to fall." You emphasize this part by falling over. The monster giggles. "So I _fell down_ , but I'm not _fallen down_. Does that make sense?"

(You spare a moment to wonder why it's easier to talk about this all to a young monster who can't even really understand what you're saying than it is to talk to your family. Maybe it's _because_ the monster can't comprehend it that you're able to say it.)

The monster nods sagely at your explanation. "Yeah! Like whenever I fell down out of bed yesterday!"

"Exactly," you agree. "You should probably go find your mommy, okay?"

"Okay! You go find your mommy, too. Bye-bye!" It runs off, seemingly already putting the encounter in the back of its mind.

You look at Asriel and run a hand through your hair. "Kids are exhausting." _Both children_ and _goats._

Asriel snorts, and for a second you wonder if he knew what you were thinking. But then he comments, "You're still a kid, too."

You push yourself up and stand beside him, wiping the snow off your clothes. "Yeah, well, I'm mature enough that it doesn't matter." Asriel raises an eyebrow, but you just grab his hand and pull him forward. "Come on, Mom and Dad said we're almost to the Ruins. And the sooner we get there, the sooner we can go home."

"And the sooner we can eat dinner," Asriel adds.

* * *

"Chara, may I tell you a story?" Asgore asks.

You've only just entered the Ruins, though it's not exactly what you'd called " _ruined_." Still, something about this place seems old and empty. "Sure," you answer, your voice quieter than normal. Something about this place makes you want to be quiet, and it's not just because of the nerves that you'll be ending up at the place where you…ahem, "fell down."

Asgore nods and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "When we monsters were first sealed in the Underground, we were fearful of humans coming down here to…finish the job, as it were. The only reason that we were not eradicated completely was because of the human's magicians – we managed to reach a compromise with the leaders of the human's army with them there to help us negotiate. The magicians wouldn't fight." Asgore pauses. "To this day, I do not know why. I do not know why they had magic, or why they pushed for the humans to spare our lives. Regardless, they wanted an end to the war that involved as few casualties as possible. And even though we were sealed away from each other, put into two separate worlds, we were fearful that some human would try to break the barrier and follow us. So we walked away from the Barrier, as far as we could – we traveled in fearful huddles, not sleeping or breaking until we reached the end of the cavern." Asgore gestures around, pausing as you reach a staircase. When you reach the top, Asgore says, "This is where we ended up. And this…is Home."

"Drama queen," you hear Toriel mumble.

"Whoa," you whisper, looking around. You get it now – the house is pretty much in ruins. And it is (or rather, was) clearly a house, but the paint on the walls is peeling, the carpet is worn out, and the calendar on the wall is fairly outdated.

Asgore continues his story. "We all lived here – until two things happened. First, it was becoming much too crowded. Our population, which was…" Asgore clears his throat, "Lessened, in the war, was finally growing again. It should have been a happy thing, but we were simply not able to accommodate everyone. And then Gaster, who had been doing plenty of tests on the Underground – attempting to discern the properties of the soil and water – discovered that there was a weak spot in the Barrier: right at the end of the cavern. As it turns out, the cavern wraps around in a circle, and the end almost touches the Barrier. I decided –" Toriel clears her throat; Asgore smiles. "Yes, well. Tori decided that we could not live in fear, and so we spread out. As king and queen, we made our home at the Barrier – our New Home."

Asgore seems to be caught up in his memories, so you rub your eyes and say to Asriel, "He's a good storyteller."

"Are you cr–?"

"Shut up." You rub at your eyes harder.

Asriel ducks his head. "Sorry."

Asgore and Toriel are leaning on each other and looking around the house – not house; the Home. You follow them as they look left and right, and then decide to walk straight out of the house. They're both walking in the front now, so you hang back with Asriel.

"Were you born whenever they lived here?" you ask.

Asriel shrugs. "I was too young to remember it, but yeah."

You glance around at the shady pathways as you walk. They look almost purple.

Changing the subject, Asriel asks, "You don't really remember walking to New Home, do you?" You look at him and he smiles. "You look like you've never seen this place before."

You flush. "I mean, I know that I was here, but…it all just passed by too quickly. It's a blur."

"So, you don't remember the puzzles?"

 _Puzzles?_ you think.

"Puzzles?" Toriel calls back. "We have not hit a puzzle yet, have we?"

"No, Mom; me and Chara are just talking about them," Asriel answers.

"What puzzles?" you ask incredulously.

Asriel grins ruefully. "Doctor Gaster set up some traps in case a human ever somehow got down here and tried to follow us," Asriel explains. "But then Mom decided to get rid of the fire, the potholes, and the real spikes so that no one would get hurt."

"Instead, I added switches and color-coding," Toriel says, nodding. "Truly, my child, it is quite lucky that we found you, and that I was able to help lead us through the Ruins. Otherwise, you might still be stuck here!" She sounds like she might be joking, but you're honestly unsure.

You make a noise of agreement, though you whisper to Asriel, "Puzzles? Really?"

Asriel shrugs. "Puzzles can be fun!"

You make a face that clearly shows your disagreement with that statement. Puzzles with lots of pieces that you put together that then make a picture – yeah, those are fun. But puzzles where you have to reason through something that is only there to make you idle longer? Those seem irritating.

You do eventually reach a puzzle. Toriel explains that most of the puzzles cannot be done going "backwards," as it were, since they were designed to stop a human who was trying to go from the weak spot in the Barrier towards New Home – added to the fact that they're not even operational. So you're able to see switches, buttons, and spiked floors – faux spikes, of course, that easily push down when pressure is put on them – but luckily, you don't have to solve them.

Finally, you reach the end of the Ruins. It's pretty underwhelming; a patch of dirt, some pillars, and that's it. But when you look up, you see the hole. You can't even see the top – bottom? – of the mountain. You wonder just how far you fell down. You wonder why you didn't die. You wonder if you should have died.

When you look back down, you see that everyone has taken a seat. You quickly plop down next to Asriel. You realize that the whole family is taking a few minutes to just sit back and rest. You try to do the same, but you keep tensing and looking at everyone, waiting for someone to say something, and waiting for your thoughts to stop circling around the hole in the ceiling. It takes you longer than it probably should have, but eventually you're able to let your eyes close and your muscles relax.

"Oh, Chara!" Toriel says.

You jerk upright, eyes blinking open.

"I hope it is okay for you here! Are you uncomfortable? Of course, we can leave whenever you are ready; we can leave right now, in fact. Oh, child, I apologize – I did not even think!" She does sound really, genuinely upset.

"Yeah – I mean, it's not a big deal. I mean, I'm okay. It's not a big deal," you ramble. Toriel being nervous has made you even more anxious, too. You don't like sitting here, but you don't want for everyone to have to leave just because you're a little too sensitive about…well, they don't know about that part. You don't need to think about that part, either, otherwise you might actually end up freaking out.

Some of the tension leaves Toriel's shoulders, but her face is still worried. "If you say so," Toriel says uncertainly.

Asgore stands up and brushes his clothes off. "We have idled long enough, regardless. Is everyone ready to return home?" You hold back a sigh of relief.

Asriel groans and flops onto his back. "But we just walked _all the way_ here."

Toriel smiles. "He does this every time," she tells you, apparently trying to lighten the mood.

You snort and hit Asriel's arm. "Come on," you say, standing up. You reach out a hand to help him up.

Asriel sighs, but takes your hand and stands. He tightens his grip on your hand. He mumbles to himself, "The sooner we get home, the sooner we get to eat dinner."

You huff. You just want to get out of this place.

* * *

The next day, Toriel comes into your and Asriel's room while Asriel is taking a bath.

"Chara," she says, "I am sure that Asriel has already told you, but his birthday is coming up very soon! Would you like to help me bake the cake?"

You set down your half-knitted sweater and grin, trying to ignore the nagging little voice in the back of your head that says that Asriel didn't care enough about you to tell you that. "Sure! What else are we having to eat besides cake?"

"Well, snail pie is Asriel's favorite dish, so I cannot _not_ make it. Aside from that, I have not yet decided. I do not want to make cottage pie again so soon, and I am not sure what he will be in the mood for tomorrow." Toriel sighs.

You tug at the sleeves of your shirt. "Well, I could try to ask him without giving anything away," you offer. You hope you can do it; you really want to help her.

Toriel smiles brightly. "Thank you so much, my child!" She waves a hand, gesturing to your knitting project. "You really have picked that up surprisingly quickly, and it already looks wonderful! You have quite the knack for knitting, child." She smiles brightly, and your sit up straight.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I had a great teacher." You grin.

"Unlike me," a voice comments from the doorway – Asriel.

You roll your eyes. "Did you ever even ask your mom to teach you?" Asriel makes a face and looks away. You scoff. "Exactly."

Toriel looks between the two of you in exasperation. "I think it is bedtime for the both of you," she says, nodding to herself. "Sleep well, my children."

"Night, Mom!"

"Goodnight – Mom."

You and Asriel speak in unison, and you can only hope that his cheerful words blocked out your hesitant ones.

Asriel turns off the light, but doesn't move to go over to his bed. He shifts his weight and wrings his hands, and you can almost see him weighing his words. You know what he's thinking about.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

Asriel scratches the back of his neck. "I – uh, well, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay with…with all that stuff that happened earlier. I just wanted to make sure that you're not mad at me…?"

You get the feeling that if the light were still on, you'd be able to see tears in the corners of his eyes. You sigh. "I'm not mad at you anymore. It's just that…when I say I don't want to talk about something, can you please not push it?" Asriel nods vigorously. You feel some of the leftover tension fade from your body. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," Asriel says without hesitation. It makes your chest feel warm. Asriel shifts his weight again. "Um, can I sleep with you – in your bed with you – I mean, I was wondering if that's still okay?"

You take a deep breath in, then out. "Sure." You move over to make room for him, lifting up the covers.

Asriel lies down beside you, smiling. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," you say lightly.

Asriel nods seriously, as though taking those words to heart.

You put your head back down on the pillow, facing him. "G'night."

"Good night, Chara." He says your name so reverently, with so much care, that your breath catches.

Yeah, you're Chara. And no one – not even your new family – can ever, ever take that away from you.


	18. Epoch

**ep' och - n., a period of time in history or in a person's life, typically marked by notable events**

* * *

"I could really go for some lemonade," you say the next day while you and Asriel are in the garden. As soon as you'd woken up, Toriel had shepherded you and Asriel out of the house – for decorations, she whispered to you. She added that, later, Asgore would take Asriel to go visit Gerson and you could help her cook the birthday lunch. Toriel's counting on you so that she knows what to make for Asriel; and you – being the sly, super smart kid that you are – are gonna get him to reveal what he's hungry for without compromising your position as a spy!

Asriel shrugs. "Lemonade's kinda sour. I am a bit hungry, though."

Ha, this is too easy! "Oh? What are you in the mood for?" you ask nonchalantly, watching Asriel out of the corner of your eye while you uproot a weed.

Asriel looks up in thought, then at you, then ducks his head. "What do you – I mean, what are _you_ in the mood for?"

You purse your lips and glance at Asriel through your hair. You shrug. "I asked you first."

Asriel bites his lip. "Well, I mean…I wouldn't wanna be in the mood for anything that you're not in the mood for."

You almost uproot a flower in your shock. Unless you misread that entire exchange, then you failed – you've been caught. You feel your cheeks go red. Come on, damn it, you had one job! You were supposed to find out what he wanted for his birthday lunch _without_ giving yourself away.

Asriel sees your flush. "I-I-I mean! Sorry! I-I'm in the mood for, um…." He pouts. "I don't wanna have something for lunch that you don't like! It's unfair if I just get to pick it!"

You almost laugh. You turn, adjusting yourself so that you're facing Asriel. "How is that unfair? You do it everyday."

Horrible realization dawns on Asriel's features. "I-I-I-I never meant to!" His eyes start watering. "I'm so sorry, Chara!"

You look at him, bewildered. "Don't apologize, Azzy. I usually ask you what you want because I have a hard time picking food. It's normal. Stop crying."

He sniffles and wipes his tears away, but he still looks miserable.

Your eyes widen. "Is this about yesterday?"

Asriel bites his lip. "I didn't know I was supposed to tell you! I didn't think to! I mean, most people know my birthday, and I didn't think it was that big of a deal anyway, and it doesn't really matter to me that much, but now I feel like this will be a bad day because I messed up and made you upset about it!"

Ah. You sigh. "Azzy…." You close your eyes, trying to explain the situation. "I'm not mad anymore. It's okay now. You didn't know before and you messed up, but today is still your birthday!" You open your eyes and smile. "Don't let anything ruin that, okay? Your birthday is supposed to be a happy day." _You disgusting hypocrite._ You straighten up your back. "So, now, what are you in the mood for?" you ask decisively.

"Uh…spaghetti?" Asriel says. "And salad. And snail pie!" he adds, smiling. " _And_ butterscotch-cinnamon pie!"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "Hm, I'll allow it." You furrow your eyebrows. "Um, don't tell T – Mom that I blew my cover, okay?"

Asriel frowns. "Blew what? Oh!" He laughs. "Oh, revealed that you were asking me about lunch? Don't worry, Dad tries to be subtle about it every year. By this point, him trying to keep it a secret is a tradition in the same way that Mom cooking a really big lunch is."

"Keyword being 'try?'" you quip.

Asriel snorts. "You guessed it!" He reaches over and pats your gloved hand. "Come on, let's finish pulling up these weeds before Dad comes and takes us away."

Since your espionage isn't needed anymore, you say, "Takes _you_ away, actually; I'm gonna help Mom fix lunch."

"Asriel? Chara?" Asgore calls from the front of the garden.

Asriel sighs and gets up, brushing dirt off his knees. "Aw, darn, I thought we'd get to hang out together."

You take off your gloves, standing up with Asriel. "It'll only be a few hours," you assure him. You grin and add, "Of course, I know that every moment not spent in my glowing presence must be so dull and boring, but be strong, brother!"

Asriel snorts and shoves you lightly. "Go cook with Mom. I'll see you later!" He takes your gloves so that he can put them up.

You walk to the front of the garden and pass Asgore with a wave. He raises a hand in response and gives you a wink. You muffle a laugh. Asgore's really not the best at being secretive.

You walk back up to the house, thankful that no monsters talk to you. You run up the stairs and call, "Toriel?"

"In the kitchen, my child," you hear.

You walk through the house and see Toriel bustling around the kitchen, her glasses covered in flour. You raise an eyebrow – this has gotta be a big deal if she's reading out of cookbooks.

And it is. Once you pass on the message of the foods that Asriel had wanted, Toriel nods and says, "And you?"

"And me what?" you ask.

Toriel takes a moment to slow down and wipe off her hands. "And what do you want to eat, my child?"

You're thrown for a loop. It's true that you usually defer to Asriel for these things – and this time especially since it's his _birthday_. "I'm good with spaghetti and salad," you say.

Toriel smiles patiently. "I know you are. What do you want to eat?"

Somehow, you get the feeling that she won't let you deflect this question, and she's willing to wait as long as she has to to get her answer. You bite your lip and think. "Um…potatoes?"

"How do you want them cooked?"

Oh, fuck, what's the word? "…Sliced?" you say hesitantly.

Toriel nods and corrects you. "Scalloped."

Shit, you knew that. Alas, the correct terminology for cooked starch isn't typically on your mind.

Turns out, everyone gets to pick something to add to the meal, and the person whose birthday it is picks dessert as well. Asgore wants stew – you don't know what kind, but Toriel lets you chop up carrots and celery; it's nice to know that she trusts you with a knife. Toriel wants fruit salad; for that, and the regular salad, you just get to toss them. You help clean the potatoes and measure out ingredients for the pies. You're also running around the kitchen at the behest of Toriel, grabbing forks, spoons, whisks, spoons ( _no, not that spoon, the other one_ ), spatulas, knives, and yet more spoons.

By the time you've finished, you're ready to collapse. Toriel looks to be in the same boat, though she's hiding it better. You both take a seat in the kitchen, and you notice that the chairs have been moved so that your and Asriel's chairs are on the same side. You gesture at the chairs' positions and give Toriel a question look.

She laughs. "My child, with the amount of food we put on the table, it would be difficult to pass everything around. Additionally, when we have finished eating –"

"Tori?" Asgore calls. "Can we come upstairs?"

"Of course, dear! You and Asriel can set the table."

You hear Asriel's groan all the way from the staircase. You laugh and sit back while Asriel and Asgore (mostly Asgore) bring in food and plates and cups, setting them strategically around the table. You sit up straight in anticipation. This motley meal shouldn't look or smell that good together, but your stomach rumbles regardless. Asriel sits next to you, smiling widely.

Asgore's the last one standing. "Ta-da!" he exclaims, smiling at Asriel. "Happy birthday!"

Asriel grins widely. "Thanks, Mom, Dad, Chara! This all looks so yummy!"

Toriel chuckles. "Well, let us dig in! I am sure that you cannot wait for dessert."

At that, Asriel fills his plate. Toriel and Asgore stare at you, and you assume that you're supposed to go next. It's probably an age thing – the youngest goes first on special occasions, maybe. You don't get nearly as much food as Asriel did; even after all this time, you can't begin to eat the amount of food that Asriel does. He's a growing boy, after all, and you're a growing – um, human.

Dinner passes in a blur of laughter and delicious food. Asriel periodically bumps his foot against your underneath the table. You bump back and forth until it's an all-out foot war; at least, until Toriel threatens – albeit half-heartedly – to separate you two again. After that, you're both well-behaved throughout dinner. You and Asgore clear the table once the meal is done, and Asriel and Toriel bring out the pies. They're polished off well within the hour, despite the fact that Toriel's pies are notoriously huge. (Notoriously huge by your standards, that is.)

"Thank you so much for helping with dinner, Chara," Toriel says when you're all sitting around the table, stuffed. Asgore gets up and walks down the hallway, though you don't pay him much mind. He's probably stretching or something.

You grin at Toriel's comment. "Any time! It's really fun to help in the kitchen."

Asriel kicks your foot. "Plus, you're super good at it."

You flush. "Yeah, well, whatever. Thank you."

Asriel looks like he's about to respond, but then Asgore reappears with two decorated boxes, and you feel something like lead in your stomach. Presents. Birthday. Presents. You didn't get Asriel a present. You feel like you're going to throw up the amazing meal you just ate. You feel like you should cut off your selfish, self-centered hands. You're the worst sibling to ever exist. You can't do anything right.

Asriel gasps. "Whoa, you guys got me separate gifts this year? Awesome! Whose do you want me to open first?" Asriel turns to you with his mouth open, ready to give more commentary about birthdays-passed, but his face abruptly twists with worry. He grabs your hand and squeezes lightly. You grip his so hard that you can see the veins on the back of your hand.

Does he know what's wrong? It doesn't seem like it. He can just tell that you're upset, but thankfully he doesn't comment on it since Toriel and Asgore are right in front of you. If he doesn't know why you're upset, then he wasn't expecting you to get him a present. This could mean one of three things.

He thinks you're an inconsiderate, rude person who doesn't even have the common courtesy to buy or make their brother a birthday present.

Or he thinks that you didn't have enough time to get him a present, considering you only recently learned when his birthday is.

Or he's so used to getting one present, shown by his surprise at getting one from each of his parents, that he assumed the one present he received would be from all three of his family members, and it hasn't sunk in yet that both his parents got him one, so his sibling should have, too.

You can see that each option is as equally possible as the others and, as such, there's no point in trying to figure out which option is true. You also have about fifteen minutes to come up with a present for Asriel.

Toriel gives Asriel the first present. She smiles. "This is something I have been meaning to give you. I hope you like it, and I hope you both have fun with it."

Both?

Asriel tears the paper open excitedly. (You don't focus on the fact that that's how your old brother would open his presents every year – ripping the wrapping paper to shreds. Wasteful.) Asriel smiles widely. "Mom!" He holds it up so you can all see it.

It is, in a word, old. His present is an archaic camcorder, but Asriel looks pretty happy with it. You wonder why. It doesn't seem that special or especially important, but maybe it is. Or, at least, maybe it will be.

Asriel's already fiddling with the buttons on it. "This is so cool! Thank you so much, Mom!"

Or maybe it will just be special because it makes Asriel happy, and that's okay, too.

Asgore gives Asriel his second gift – the box is longer and flatter than Toriel's. Clothes, you would guess. And, knowing Asriel, it's probably a sweater.

Asriel's jaw drops when he sees what's inside the box. He stares, eyes wide, for a good five seconds before his mouth breaks into a giant grin. "Are you serious?!" He picks up a purple and white article of clothing out of the box. Upon closer inspection, you realize that it's a…dress? But Asriel looks positively elated. He looks at Asgore and Toriel with breathless surprise. "Are you serious?!" he repeats.

Asgore chuckles. "Of course we are. After all, you have proven yourself to be mature enough to own them." Asgore fixes Asriel with a serious look. "Now, you know that you cannot wear it in public. However, Toriel decided that you _are_ allowed to wear it around the house."

Asriel looks like he's about to scream. "That's so cool!"

Toriel clears her throat. "I think you missed something, child."

Asriel cocks his head, taking the dress – robe? – fully out of the box. Underneath it lies an identical piece of clothing, which seems a bit underwhelming to you. But this time, Asriel does scream. It's short and shrill, and there's a chance that you are now partially deaf in your left ear.

"Are you _serious_?!" Not waiting for a response, Asriel pulls the piece of clothing out of the box and shows it to you. "Look! Two! Two!"

While it's always nice to hear Asriel do basic math, you fail to see what the big deal is.

When you just keep sitting still, Asriel pushes the dress into your arms. "This one's for you! We both get one!" Asriel looks at his parents. "Thank you so much!" His face is on the verge of splitting from his incessant smiling.

You glance down at the thing in your lap. Now that you can see it, and the symbol on it, clearly, you realize that it's a miniature version of Toriel and Asgore's kinda-fancy outfits. Toriel wears hers more often, but it's typically what they both wear when they go out. Your first thought is that it's a maturity thing – obviously, since Asgore basically said that to Asriel. But it seems to be more important than that. After all, since only the king and queen wear these things – oh.

Oh.

You drop the cloth as though it's burned you.

No one notices. Asriel keeps babbling, but you can't process the words. You _can't_ wear this thing – you can't, can't, can't. You're not – you're one of them, sure, but you can't go around _flaunting_ that you're so much better than everyone else! You can't when you're just…just…!

"Chara?"

Asriel's voice brings you back to the moment. Oh, your eyes are watering. Asriel's are, too, but you somehow think his reasoning is different; he's overjoyed. You laugh. This kid – this kid! He's ridiculous! He just – he just does whatever he wants, whatever makes him happy, and he _is_ happy, and he shows it in so many different ways! He's so expressive and loud and such – such a fucking crybaby, God, but it makes him so happy; he's happy!

And then you're hugging, and you're smiling and crying too because you're just as ridiculous as Asriel is. And maybe you can wear this thing, but not for yourself – you'll wear it because Asriel is so happy and you never want to see him cry with anything other than joy.

When you pull back and look at Asgore and Toriel, their eyes are watering too. You laugh again, and gently rub at your eyes. This is all so ridiculous.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" Asriel says for the millionth time. "You guys are the best parents ever!"

"Yeah," you say, finally speaking up. "Yeah."

"Of course," Toriel says with a little laugh. "You are both growing up so fast. It seems like only yesterday that we were moving in your bed, Chara."

It feels like it's been almost a year to you. You feel too safe – you've thought it before and you're sure that you'll think it again, but by this point you can just think back: _Yeah, I do._ And it's okay.

A few more tearful but happy words are said before Asgore excuses himself from the dining room to the kitchen to go make tea. You offer to help, as well as clean off the empty boxes.

Once you're out of the fire-lit, love-filled room, you chest feels heavy again. You look at the empty gift box in your arms and pull it against your chest hard enough to dent it. Stop! Stop! Asriel hasn't mentioned it – no one's mentioned it! Maybe only monster parents get their kids presents on birthdays, or something like that. No one's acting like you messed up, so what if you didn't? What if you should just calm down and be happy again and stop flipping around like a fish out of water?

"What kind of tea would you like, Chara?"

"Um, you have lemon, right?" Asgore nods. "Lemon with honey, please."

"Coming right up." Asgore heats up enough water for four cups, fills the cute tea cups, and puts in the tea bags. He turns to you while they seep. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm good!" Your cheer sounds fake to your own ears.

"You are crushing that box, Chara," Asgore says – gently, not accusingly, but you blush and drop the box anyway.

"Sorry." God, you're such an idiot. You pick back up the dumb gift box and throw it in the trash can.

"It is no problem," Asgore assures you. "Do you want to tell me why you're upset?"

No. "I didn't get Asriel anything for his birthday," you say in a rush.

Asgore looks surprised, and then smiles. "You do not need to be upset about that. Asriel is accustomed to only receiving one present each birthday. I doubt the thought had even crossed his mind that you alone would get him a gift."

Your throat feels tight. It's even worse because you know exactly what he meant and it's still almost like you're trying to convince yourself that he was insulting you. He's comforting and nice and you're twisting his words in your head, and you know you're doing it, and you can't stop it.

You and Asgore return to the table with the tea. You all sit around the table and it's warm again and, while the lump in your throat doesn't disappear completely, you're able to breathe and laugh and smile.

Toriel sends you off to bed at the normal time. Asriel pouts because _"it's my birthday!"_ but Toriel is having none of it, so after good nights, you and Asriel make your way to your room. You get ready for bed normally, not speaking. You fiddle with the edge of your shirt while Asriel goes to turn off the light. You stare at your empty, cold bed, not wanting to get in it after the warmth of the living room.

"Hey Chara, can I…sleep in your bed with you tonight?"

Your head jerks up in surprise. "I – uh, sure! If you really want to."

Asriel tilts his head and grins. "Course I do!" He turns off the lamp and walks over to your bed before his eyes have adjusted. He bumps into you and almost falls back, but you reach out for him – and then he takes you down with him.

" _Oof._ "

You hear Asriel's breath leave his lungs. You immediately push yourself off of him, moving over to the side.

"I'm sorry –"

"That was my fault –"

You both break off when you realize you're talking over each other. It's quiet.

Asriel snorts, and you giggle. You push yourself up and offer out a hand. Another apology is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. Asriel takes your hand, pulling himself up. He stands there with his hand in yours for a moment before he loosens his grip and you let go. You both climb into your bed without another word. It's only after you've lain down that you feel the wall on your other side; you're sandwiched in between Asriel and the wall, trapped. Asriel doesn't say anything, so you don't want to speak up and break the silence. You try not to think about your current position, and, as such, end up thinking about what a terrible person you are.

"I'm sorry," you blurt.

Asriel turns over. You can only just make out his features. "Sorry? What about?"

You don't know whether or not to feel relief at his cluelessness. "Because I didn't get you a present."

Asriel huffs, but it might be a tiny laugh. "I know. It's okay; I didn't expect you to get me one. I mean, you didn't even know my birthday was coming up! Plus, it's not like you _have_ to get me something."

"But I _want_ to!" you say. "I want you to know that I – I care!"

This time, Asriel does laugh. "I _know_ that you care," he assures you.

And it hits you like a hammer because he's wrong. He doesn't – he can't know that you care about him, not in the way that you want him to know. Yes, you've said, _"I care about you."_ You've never said…well, he's never heard you say what you really feel. You always step around it because the words get caught in your throat any time you try to say them. But now – what better way to say it? What better time to say it? You don't have a present to give him, but you do have a gift. You have one thing, and it's small and it probably won't be important to him, but it's one of the best and most important things you could give anyone.

You open your mouth; close it; open it; and say, "I want you to know that I love you." It's quiet and quick and shaky. You really wish it hadn't been.

Asriel's mouth opens and his eyes widen. You barely have time to think that you've messed up and said the wrong when Asriel says, "Chara!" He sounds happy. He sounds touched. He sounds honored. (He also sounds kinda tired but you're pretty sure that one's an outlier.) He grabs your hand and you can see that he's smiling. "I love you too, Chara!"

Your cheeks feel hot. "Well, yeah. Um, right. Uh, happy birthday and all that, Azzy." You loosen your grip this time, and he immediately lets you go.

"Now it is," Asriel chirps.

You try and fail to hold back a smile. "Shut up, silly."

Asriel laughs. "Good night, Chara!"

"Night, Azzy."

It's quiet for a minute. You let yourself relax into the bed and the covers, and despite the fact that you're pressed up against the wall, you don't feel trapped anymore.

Asriel speaks up this time, his voice much quieter than it was a moment ago. "Thanks."

You don't respond, but you do reach out for his hand (because apparently you can't make up your goddamn mind about this). You can feel his fur around your fingers, and it should be weird; everything should be weird, but you can feel your mouth smiling regardless. Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. You hold his hand tighter because you feel like you should. You subtly take a deep breath in and out, and somehow you relax even further.

You must have fallen asleep at some point because when you wake up the next morning, you're somehow still holding Asriel's hand, and somehow your chest feels tight without feeling like it's being crushed.

You blink open your eyes and look at Asriel, watching him sleep. He looks gross – his mouth is kinda open, and he does this light little snore where you can see the fur around his nose moving, and he's got a double chin where his head is pressed against his chest. You spend a tiny eternity staring at him.

He opens his eyes, sees you, and smiles.

"Good morning," he says with sleep coloring his voice.

"It is now," you answer.


	19. Distraught

**HAPPY ONE YEAR BIRTHDAY, FRFD! I'm a mess of a person who takes way too long to write things. Thank you all so much for sticking with me!**

* * *

 **dis traught' - adj., agitated or upset as a result of emotion or mental conflict**

* * *

"Ha! Checkmate – more like _check me out_ , 'cause I rock at this game!"

Your triumphant shout draws Toriel's attention, and she calls from the kitchen, "Asriel, Chara, I hope you are both being good sports in there!"

"We are, Mom," Asriel calls back, but you can see the pout on his face. Back at a normal volume, he continues, "That's three wins in a row, Chara! That's totally not fair."

You shrug, but you can't keep a grin off your face. "This game is too easy! You made it sound so hard when you asked Dad to teach me how to play."

"It _is_ hard," Asriel insists. "It took me weeks to learn how to play chess, and you learned in one afternoon, which is _also_ completely unfair."

You huff and wave a hand. "C'mon, Azzy, you don't have to be the very best at every single thing. You're still better than me at drawing."

That makes him perk up. "I – yeah, I am!" He smiles, his glum mood somehow already forgotten. "Don't worry, though; you're still good at drawing, too! I've just been doing it for a long time."

He's been playing chess for a long time, too, but you don't point that out. "Exactly," you agree. You shift in your seat. You and Asriel have been playing chess at the table for a while now. Asgore had elected to give you a day off since it's been almost three months of continuous training and school work – and three months since Asriel's birthday.

Neither one of Asriel's presents had gotten very much use. For the camcorder, Asriel showed you some of the old videos already on it, but you haven't made any yourselves. Asriel said that one day he wants to record you making funny faces, and so you, obviously, let your face go loose, your eyes go wide, and your lips pull back in a smile in an attempt to dissuade him from this idea. But Asriel seemed to think that recording your "creepy face" would be even "cooler." You, of course, hid the camcorder after that exchange. It's currently resting at the bottom of your yarn basket, a place where Asriel would never dare to look.

And as for the royal robes – you've gotten to the point where you can hypothetically think about wearing them, even if it's just in front of your family, but actually touching the fabric makes your hands shake. Luckily, if Asriel ever noticed, he's never commented on it.

Asgore enters the room, looks at the board, then smiles at you proudly. You beam back. Asriel huffs.

"I hope you've had enough fun, children, because it is about time to leave," Asgore says.

"Leave?" you blurt out. "I thought today was our day off."

Asriel looks at you quizzically. "We're not doing anything the day after tomorrow. Today is our doctor's appointment, and tomorrow we're going on another round!"

You bite back a groan. Damn, he's right; you remember now. Asriel's having his regular check-up a little early to sync up your schedules.

"Tori will have dinner prepared by the time we get back," Asgore says. "Now, go put on your shoes, children. We must be on our way if we wish to be on time!"

* * *

As it turns on, being on time wasn't such a big deal because when you get to the lab, Gaster isn't even there.

You glance around the lab in distrust. You still don't really like it here – the white-washed walls and the glaring lights threaten to give you a headache, while the hard, unforgiving floor promises no safety if you should trip and fall, and for some reason Gaster's absence makes you more nervous than his presence would. It's not that you like the doctor (his face is creepy and he asks you uncomfortable questions), but this lab is _his_ environment, and you feel like he should be here.

Thankfully, the door at the other end of the lab opens before your and your family can loiter for too long. Gaster comes in wearing weird clothes and rushes around, not noticing you all. Asgore clears his throat and Gaster jerks his head towards you all.

Asgore smiles apologetically. "We did not mean to interrupt you –"

Gaster cuts him off, shaking his head and doing that weird thing with his hands.

"Where were you?" Toriel asks. Her voice is mild and curious, and even you know that you could shrug off the question if it had been asked to you.

But Gaster must give an actual answer, because Toriel nods and looks pleased.

Then Gaster composes himself. "Hello, Chara, Asriel," he says.

"Hi, Doctor Gaster!" Asriel grins. "How're you?"

"I am well. And yourselves?"

"Good!"

"Good," you put in.

Gaster nods, and you hope that pleasantries and small talk are over with. Your wish is granted. "Now, who would like to have their check-up first?"

"I can," you say, surprising yourself as much as Asriel, who gives you a confused look. When Gaster turns his attention to your parents, you mumble to Asriel, "I just want to get it over with." He nods sympathetically. You suppose that's a good reason, if Asriel accepted it. Maybe that really was your reason for speaking up, even if it was subconscious. You decide not to wonder on it.

With that, Asgore, Toriel, and Asriel head upstairs and Gaster gestures you to the table where you'd sat the last time you were here. You both take a seat.

You shift your weight when Gaster doesn't immediately speak up, instead shuffling some around papers the table.

Finally, he does. "Is there anything in particular you would like to discuss, Chara?"

"Uh, no, not really." There's not anything you can think of, at least. In the time since you've last talked to Gaster, you've gotten sick twice; once when you accidentally ate too much pie (you didn't mention that to anyone – way to embarrassing), and once when you had a fr – _panic attack_ after a nightmare. You threw up next to your bed and Asriel got his parents before you could clean it up yourself. But you really don't think either of those are important, so you just punctuate your answer with a shrug.

Gaster hums, and then says, "All right. How old are you, Chara?"

"Ten."

"Have you been experiencing any dysphoria?"

"Dys – what?"

Gaster rephrases. "Does your ideal image of self have any disconnects with your physical body?"

You wonder if he'll try again in the hopes of making you even _more_ confused. "I don't understand. I mean, I don't think so, but I'm not sure what you're asking." You suddenly get an idea. "Oh, like, if I wanted to look more like a girl? That's what…um, some of the…people thought. Before I fell down." You hear your voice get weaker and weaker until you eventually trail off. You lick your lips and train your gaze on the floor once more. You don't feel your cheeks heat up, luckily, but you do feel embarrassed and scared. Did Gaster just trick you into admitting that you used to be a boy? If you weren't a girl, then he knows that you're really a boy, right? He asked you last time – he must have been tricking you.

But, for some reason, Gaster doesn't comment on that. He just inclines his head. "That is essentially what I meant, yes. It was one of the reasons I had wanted to know your biological sex. Dysphoria presents itself differently, of course, for those who are AFAB, AMAB, or intersex, even if each of those people is nonbinary. There are ways to alleviate dysphoria, but if you are not experiencing it, then we may move on."

Gaster looks ready to do so, but you open your mouth, ready to ask a question, and he pauses and looks at you. You fiddle with your sleeves. "Nonbinary?" you ask.

Gaster's pen hovers above his clipboard. He seems to make a decision and sets both off to the side, focusing his attention on you. "Are you asking what that term means, or do you use a different term to identify yourself?"

"Um, the first one."

Gaster nods. He shifts around some papers until he finds a clean one, and then sets it on the table between the two of you. He draws a line across the paper, making tic marks at both ends, and adding one in the middle. "This is a very simple way of explaining it, but I also tend to think that it is one of the most easy to comprehend." He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then continues, "This is referring to gender only. Not biological sex, romantic orientation, or sexual orientation. Do you understand?"

You nod, even though you don't, not really. But you hope that you'll understand in a minute.

Gaster nods back. He points the pen at the tic mark on the far left and writes an _F_ over it. "Here, we would say, is an entirely female identity." He moves to the right and writes an _M_. "This would be male." Over the middle, he writes an _A_. "This would be agender, or no gender."

You blink. That's…weird, but okay. You think it makes sense.

Gaster continues to move his pen around the paper as he talks. "Sometimes, one who is born male will identify as male. He will use stereotypical male pronouns like he, him, and his, and will feel comfortable with his gender. He may or may not dress in a masculine way. It depends on the individual. Other times, a person who is assigned male at birth will be female in terms of gender. This person would likely use she, her, and hers as pronouns, as those are typically associated with femininity. She may experience dysphoria because her body does not match her gender, or sense of self. Does that make sense?"

You nod, not wanting to interrupt.

Gaster continues, "When a person identifies across like this, they are transgender. Now." He taps the _A_. "Anywhere in between would be considered nonbinary. Nonbinary people can also identify as transgender. Some nonbinary people use singular they, them, and their, as those do not specify a gender. Others use she or he, and there are more gender-nonspecific pronouns that I could tell you about – yes, Chara?"

You hadn't said anything, just opened then closed your mouth, but apparently that's enough for Gaster to listen to you. You clear your throat. "Um – I mean, I didn't know there were other options. Azzy just called me 'they' because I guess he didn't know what I really was, and when I never corrected them or anything, they just kinda…rolled with it?" You shrug, not sure how to explain the actions of the Dreemurrs.

You get the feeling that Gaster would be smiling if he could. "Yes, they are quite adaptable and easy-going. I have considered naming those two characteristics as traits of boss monsters in general; however, I do not have a large enough sample size to declare it with certainty." He sighs.

You hum, not sure if you should risk asking about boss monsters.

Gaster abruptly straightens and starts muttering under his breath. You don't think he's speaking English. He stands up and gestures for you to do the same. You do. Gaster sighs again. "I am sorry for this, but I am afraid that I have business elsewhere in approximately thirty minutes. I dislike cutting this meeting short, but I need to meet with Asriel as well. You did not seem to have many questions or concerns, but is there anything you would like me to make a note of?"

"Um, no, I don't think so. I-I'm pretty sure that I'm okay."

Gaster nods. "If, at a later point, you have any concerns or wish to discuss anything, please inform King Asgore and he can arrange a meeting."

"Okay." You definitely won't.

You follow Gaster up the stairs. Asriel is watching TV while Toriel and Asgore are a few feet away, discussing…something. You can't hear them.

Asriel scrambles up and mouths, _Good?_

You nod, and Asriel smiles.

Gaster says something to Asgore, who says, "Ah. I hope we have not come at a bad time?"

Gaster responds, and Asgore says, "I see. Do you have enough time for –?"

Gaster interrupts him, and even though you can't understand what he's saying, you can tell it's something along the lines of, "Of course!"

Asriel heads downstairs with one last wave towards you, and you take his place in front of the TV.

You cock your head. You've seen this art style before, but it was in some comic book that one of the kids at your school threw out. You've never seen it as a TV show. (Then again, you never really saw much TV at all.)

You tune out Toriel and Asgore's voices while you watch the good guy fight some of the bad guy's henchmen. There's a lot of banter, and the fighting doesn't seem very realistic, but the colors are nice at the very least. By the end of the episode, Asriel's done with his check-up, but you don't want to leave.

You pull him down next to you as the opening for the next episode plays. "We can't leave," you whisper intensely, hoping that Toriel and Asgore haven't noticed Asriel's return. "What's-his-name is really close to saving his sister and the bad guy is keeping her locked up somewhere but he's _so close_ to finding her! Then they'll be reunited and once they're together they'll be able to take down the bad guy!"

Asriel glances at the screen, excited, but then you see his expression drop. "It won't happen anytime soon. This is a filler episode."

"A what?"

"A disappointment," Asriel says. He stands up to attract his parent's attention, and you look forlornly at the screen.

"Until we meet again," you mumble to the TV as Asriel takes your hand and drags you down the stairs. "Until we meet again."

* * *

You have, of course, been on successful rounds. Ones where no one got hurt and you didn't freak out. Ones where you came home feeling accomplished and proud and Asriel would look at you with a blinding smile that left you feeling invincible.

This was not one of those rounds.

It had started out okay; you've gotten used to being surrounded by monsters that all want to smile at you, and some of whom want to shake your hand, as long as your family is nearby. And they hadn't left your side while you were on your rounds since the last time that had resulted in a freakout. As such, they'd let their "guard" down around the other monsters; mostly, there was just less hovering.

You were in what you liked to call a "transitional area," partially because there was nothing there aside from long halls, and partially because it made you sound really smart, even in your own head. There weren't really many monsters around until Asriel ran ahead, not quiet to his parents, but a few yards ahead of you, to a group of puppies. You hung back – knowing that you were allergic to Temmie made you wary of any other pets.

Unfortunately, Asriel was too busy talking to a group of puppies to notice when you tripped over a Froggit.

The Froggit looks at you with dull, baleful eyes, and you can almost hear the " _Ribbit"_ that would actually mean, _Excuse me, human. Or should I say – excuse you._

You push yourself away and brush off your clothes. "I – uh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The Froggit continues to give you a cold stare. It hops closer to you.

You assume that's a sign of aggression. "I said I'm sorry," you say, and it comes out sounding more snappish than you'd meant it to. But you don't want to apologize again because, by this point, you sound more redundant than apologetic.

You stand and turn, ready to walk away, but you feel something touch the back of your leg. You jerk reflexively, kicking away what you presume to be the Froggit. You turn around, an annoyed retort on your lips, but you don't see the Froggit anywhere around you. You don't see any Froggits.

You do, however, see some dust scattered across the pseudo-hallway.

You feel your stomach drop.

…Then you turn on your heel and quickly walk away.

You wonder how much pain you would have to endure to take your mind away from its natural thoughts. A lot, probably. Scratching wouldn't do the trick; besides, you wouldn't want sharp pain. Blunt pain would be preferable. Like a baseball bat, or a golf club. Do monsters have sports? Even if they do, it's got to be different from human sports.

 _(Because humans kill things for sport because they're evil and –)_

You tear your mind away from sports because it's silly to be thinking about sports, and sports don't really matter, so you wonder why your brain has decided that they _do_ matter.

You bump into a dog, and you're glad that you didn't trip over the dog because then the dog would have harassed you and then disappeared and that would have been bad.

Asriel giggles. And you're pretty sure there's never been a sound that's calmed you down more.

You close your eyes. Alright, everything is fine. Everything is fine! Think logically – a simple kick couldn't have killed a Froggit. You barely even put any force behind it; in fact, _you_ put _no_ force behind it, because it was just a reflex! It's not even your fault. Worst case scenario, you injured the Froggit a little bit, just enough to make it "bleed," and then it hopped away. The Froggit had seemed pretty haughty, after all. It wouldn't have wanted to stick around.

Asriel says your name and you open your eyes. He looks concerned.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, absentmindedly petting the puppy next to him.

"Yeah, I'm good," you say. Your voice sounds weirdly numb, and you try to smile, but your face feels weird.

Asriel frowns. "Are you sure? Do you want to go home?"

"No." _Yes._

"I think we should."

"We don't have to." _I think we should, too._

Asriel puffs up like a responsible brother. "I'm gonna go tell Mom and Dad!"

You watch as he ignore the puppies and runs up to Toriel, tugging on her sleeve and saying something too her.

A small bark draws your attention. A very, very small dog prances around your feet. It's a white puff ball, scarcely bigger than your hands. You reach down and pet it.

It totally freaks out, yipping and jumping and panting. It calms down for a moment, looking up at you expectantly. You scratch behind its ear and, if you didn't know better, you'd say the dog was smiling.

You decide that you like the puppy.

"Chara?" Asriel says.

You glance up.

"C'mon! Mom said we can head back home." He seems uncertain, as though he's afraid that you'll be mad at him.

You stand up, giving the dog one last pet. "Okay." Your mouth forms the words without you consent. You still feel weirdly…distant. Like it was a different person petting the dog. Like a different person is talking to Asriel. Like a different person is in your body; a different person must be, because you don't think that you're the one who's breathing, or blinking, or standing, or….

This has happened before. Has it? Hasn't it? What _is_ happening? You feel yourself take a deep breath, but you're not sure if your mind told your body to do that. You wonder if this is something you should mention to Gaster. Or you would wonder that, if you were able to focus on…on anything.

Toriel and Asgore are looking at you with some emotion on their faces. They're speaking, and you know you can hear them, but you can't process their words. And then your mouth is opening and closing. You're talking. And then your legs are moving. Asriel is holding onto your hand, thankfully. You're not sure you would keep moving if he wasn't.

Your legs move up and down and up and up and down and up and down and down.

You arm swings front and back and front and back and front and back.

And then you're home. You see New Home in front of you and you feel more _there._ Because if you're home then you must be okay.

You're at the table. Sandwiches. You stare at the food on your plate.

You try to wiggle your toes.

Not much luck.

You try to move your left index finger. It twitches. Ah, luck!

It takes just under a minute to regain feeling and control in your arms and hands. You pick up your sandwich and take a bite. You feel bread and ham and cheese in your mouth.

You blink your eyes purposefully. And then again. Your eyes feel very dry. One more blink, and then you look around the table.

Toriel is wearing her reading glasses. And is reading a book. Unsurprisingly.

Asgore has one sandwich left on his plate, half a sandwich left in his hand, and judging from the crumbs on his plate, two sandwiches in his stomach.

Asriel has finished his sandwich and is kicking his feet, staring into the fireplace across the room.

He must feel your eyes on him because the next moment, he turns his head to look at you. You can see his eyes light up. It makes something in your chest glow, and you think you can feel your face a bit more.

You open your mouth. No sound comes out. You try again. "Hey." Ah, your eloquence strikes again.

Asriel doesn't seem to mind your simplicity, though. "Hey, Chara! Are you feeling…better?" He seems to second-guess his words half-way through, as though he's afraid you'll be upset at his asking.

"Y…yeah." You don't think you're lying. You take a deep breath and feel it in your mouth and chest and lungs. You exhale.

You take another bite of your sandwich. Oh, it's ham and cheese and lettuce. You grin. That's good – it's good.

"Chara?" Toriel speaks up, marking her place in her book. "Would you like anything else to eat? Or drink?"

You take a bit longer to process that question than you should. "Lemonade?" you respond eventually.

"You already have a glass," she says, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

You would flush with embarrassment if you weren't still a bit…weird. "Oh, I…am sorry. That was my mistake." She's right. How convenient. You and Asgore have glasses of regular lemonade; Asriel's and Toriel's are pink.

You take a sip of your lemonade. Tart and cold. And good. You drink so much that your tongue feels weird. But you note that you're very distinctly feeling _something._ Which is good.

You blink hard again and lick your lips. You're good.

Asriel cleans up the table and you sit and talk to Toriel about knitting; you say that your current project is coming along nicely, but don't spoil what it is. Toriel understands, and she hides a grin. Asgore's sweater. She knows that he'll love it. You really hope he will.

You don't think you'll be able to work on it tonight. You don't think you'll be able to do much of anything tonight. Despite the fact that you feel like you just woke up, you're oddly tired. You want to sleep. But you don't want to sleep because you might dream. And you don't think you can deal with a nightmare about –

 _Nothing because nothing happened –_

But even as you try to talk over the voices in your head, you know it won't work. You hurt someone. You… _killed_ someone. Else. _Again._ You…you…

"Hey, do you wanna play with some stuffed animals?" Asriel asks. He's right in front of you. You jump at his sudden proximity.

"I – no," you answer truthfully. "I'm sorry, Azzy. I'm really tired."

Toriel hums. "Ah. Yes, I think it best for you, Chara, to take a bath, and then we can all turn in a bit early tonight."

"Yes, ma – Mom." _Ma'am?_ Where did that come from? You haven't called anyone ma'am since before you fell down. You look at Toriel's face, but your ability to read expressions seems a bit impaired. You can't tell if she noticed your slip-up or not.

You take another deep breath, following Toriel to the bathroom. She runs the water for you, which you appreciate. You're not sure if you could have done it right.

With a gentle ruffle to your hair, Toriel leaves you alone to bathe. You touch the water – it's a bit too warm. You get in anyway, knowing that the hot water will leave your skin red.

 _Better red with heat than white with death,_ you think a bit hysterically.

You scrub harder than you should, leaving your skin a bright red. Your arms, abdomen, and legs are raw, and they sting. Good. You sit in the water for a moment longer; or maybe a bit longer than a moment, because suddenly the water is almost cold.

You look down at your pruned hands, and you feel your shoulders shake, and you begin to cry.


	20. Meretricious

**mer e tri' cious - adj., apparently attractive but in reality having no value or integrity**

* * *

It's dark. It's late. You shouldn't be awake but you are awake because you're bad. You're bad and that means that you don't get to sleep. It means you stare at the ceiling that you can't see, with only the company of a faux-brother whom you can't hear, and lie in the bed that you can scarcely feel.

You don't know why your body keeps refusing to act like your body. It's annoying because it means that you don't feel real. You feel like you're floating; like you're not a concrete being. But at the same time, you feel stagnant and immobile. You think it might be your punishment. You don't know who would be punishing you. Maybe you're punishing yourself. Because you're a dirty, disgusting, revolting, terrible, horrible, atrocious, abhorrent –

How do the Dreemurrs not know? Can they not tell how so, so very bad you are? Surely Toriel or Asgore can tell. They're able to tell when you're upset. They must know that you've done something wrong.

But did you even do anything wrong? It was an accident! An accident! You didn't start anything; you didn't strike the Froggit on purpose.

It was an accident, but that doesn't make you less of a murderer.

You almost move to scratch your arm. Almost dig your nails into your skin. You know you could draw blood if you push down hard enough. But you don't.

You push yourself out of bed, folding the covers back neatly.

You know that you'd be shaking if you could feel your limbs properly. But you aren't, and you can't. Your legs hold your weight when you stand, but you're still almost unsure that they're there. You make your way out of the room, opening and shutting the door carefully so as to not disturb Asriel. You shuffle down the hallway towards the kitchen. You could easily reach a knife. You don't feel real, but you know that sharp, sharp pain will bring you back.

Through the living room, and into the kitchen.

"Chara?" Asgore's voice. Your head jerks toward him and you see him holding something in his hands, but he quickly moves it behind his back. "What are you doing awake?"

 _Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck._ "Um. Tea!" Your voice cracks on the word. "I'm – I just wanted some tea." _Oh,_ that _didn't sound guilty at all,_ you think dryly.

"Oh!" Asgore sounds relieved. "Of course, of course. I can fix you a cup. Could you, er, turn around for a moment?" He smiles, but it's a nervous one.

"Uh, sure." It has something to do with the thing is his hands, obviously. You turn around and hear him shuffling around in the cabinets, but it seems like he's mostly just making noise.

After a moment, he says, "Thank you! You may turn back around." You do. Asgore already has down a small cup. "Now, which tea would you like?"

You end up taking cinnamon (because right now, you'd like some stability and comfort) with a bit of milk in it. Asgore asks if you'd like to drink it in the kitchen or at the table, but you ask if you can take it back to your bedroom. Asgore obliges, making you feel like you would smile at him if you had the energy. As it stands, though, you simply bid him goodnight and walk back to your bedroom. You don't even have the motivation to try to spy on him to see what the mysterious object was. You'll probably find out at some point.

You distantly acknowledge your trust in Asgore as you slowly, carefully make your way back to your bed. When you reach it, you sit down and sip of your tea. You expect it to wake you up, but instead it just makes your arms heavy. You take another sip. At least you can feel your arms now – with certainty. Another sip. You're having a bit of trouble sitting up. Sip. Why haven't you been sleeping? God, you're so tired. Sip. You blink your eyes, trying to focus. Sip.

Oh, that was the last of the tea.

You set your cup down beside your bed. You have a really nice dad. He makes you tea and…does lots of other nice things, you're sure.

Wow, you're exhausted.

You lie down and pull your covers up to your chin, snuggling up to it.

You sigh, and then finally fall asleep.

* * *

You spend most of the next day in the garden. At first, Asgore and Asriel are out there with you; eventually, Asgore has to leave, though. When Toriel comes to get you and Asriel for lunch, you ask if you can stay in the garden. Toriel gives you a _look,_ but you look back at her pleadingly, adding that you finished you off your plate at breakfast, and if you get hungry, then you'll come up for a snack – promise!

"Alright," she says reluctantly. She ruffles your hair (which she's able to do without getting her hand caught in any tangles because you've been pretty good about remembering to brush it). "Asriel will be back down soon. Oh!" She turns to Asriel, who's currently dusting dirt off of his jeans. "Asriel, would you please leave your phone with Chara?"

"Sure!" he says without hesitation. He hands it to you.

Toriel nods approvingly. "Call me if you need me and you cannot, or do not want to, come up to the house. Okay?"

"Okay," you echo.

Toriel and Asriel leave a moment later, and you're left alone in the garden. If pressed, you're not sure that you could explain why you'd asked. You don't know if you could eat much, that's true, but you've never exactly been the most ravenous eater. You want to be alone, but there are other places where you could have at least semi-isolation.

Maybe it's the flowers. You rub your thumb over the petals of the flower in front of you. Your buttercups. They're calming. And nice to look at. Plants have always been good company because they listen to you when you do want to talk, and they don't press you when you don't.

You start uprooting tiny weeds.

To be fair, you have actual people who are willing to do that now. And they can talk back; plants can't. This is both a positive and a negative, you think. Sometimes you just want to ramble. You just want to spill out all of the words inside your head because it makes you feel lighter inside, but you don't want to say it _to_ someone. You don't want to have to deal with replies or judgment or pity. And it feels better to actually talk to something, instead of just rambling to yourself.

You used to talk to trees when you were really, really angry because you felt like trees were strong. They could handle your anger because they had thick skin ( _ha!_ ), and harsh words wouldn't hurt or scare them. Flowers always felt more delicate. Flowers were for when you were sad because flowers understood tears like they understood rain, and they didn't begrudge you for any weaknesses. Flowers are soft, so you go to them when you want to be weak.

You look at the buttercups in front of you and say, "Hi. I hope you feel better now that all those annoying weeds are gone." Your voice is low and hesitant and you glance over your shoulder, making sure you're alone.

Obviously, you are. But you don't usually do this sort of thing in the middle of the day. Then again, it may be night on the surface. You don't really know how they keep consistent track of time down here.

You turn your attention back to the flowers and try to get rid of the tension in your body. You take a deep breath – in, out. "I hope I've been doing a good job taking care of you," you say, starting again. "I'm sure Asgore and Asriel take good care of you, too. Do you like them? I really do. I know Toriel probably doesn't tend to you guys a lot, but she's nice too, I promise."

It gets easier to talk the longer you go on. You ramble. You're not even sure what you're talking about, and then you say, "I'm glad I haven't hurt you. I've hurt a lot of other people." Your words catch in your throat and you hunch your shoulders and lean in closer to the buttercups. "I need to tell you a secret. I just need to tell someone, and I know that flowers are good at keeping secrets." Your hands ball into fists. You look over your shoulder, then turn back to the buttercups. "I." You cough. "I-I've. I, um…shit. _Shit!_ This is hard, okay? I've really, really hurt people. And I don't know what to do. I can never tell because – god, who could love a –?" You feel tears prick at your eyes and angrily rub them away. "I'm being pathetic. I'm being dumb." When you look again, the flower hasn't changed. "You don't really care, do you?" you mumble. You touch one of the buttercup's petals. "You don't care that I've hurt other people, I can tell. Why is that?"

Unsurprisingly, the flower doesn't speak up. You almost giggle wondering about what would have happened if it had.

"You can only keep secrets because you can't talk. Things that can talk – even cats and dogs – they give stuff away. You don't. And you don't care if I've hurt people." You smile. "That's funny. You're beautiful, but I know you're really cruel inside. You don't care. Even when someone dies. People put you guys on graves, you know. And some flowers can kill people. We're the same, then, aren't we?"

And just like that, you've said it out loud. Almost. You somehow feel lighter while simultaneously feeling your skin crawl. Those words are in the air now – you can't see or hear them, but you know they're there – and you can never take them back.

You touch the buttercup's stem and wonder if you should pick one. "It's not that I was wrong. You _are_ soft and delicate and weak and I probably could cry to you if I wanted." You pluck the buttercup and hold it at eye-level. "But it's not just that. I was soft and weak, and you were soft and weak. And now we're both stronger, aren't we? You just needed to accept the fact that you're cruel."

You just needed to accept the fact that you're cruel.

Lighter. Lighter. Lighter.

You close your eyes.

* * *

You give Asriel the flower and his phone when he returns from lunch.

He grins brightly, but then his smile dims. "Aw, you didn't uproot it! It'll die faster this way."

You shrug. "That's okay." Asriel gives you a look. "It'll die anyway," you explain, "so does it really matter if it dies today, tomorrow, or next week?"

Asriel pouts. "When you put it like that…."

"Just enjoy it while it's here," you suggest. You gently take the flower out of his hand and set the stem between his ear and his head. It balances precariously, but stays still. "Come on, let's get back to gardening."

Asriel hums. "There's not a whole lot left to do, is there?"

You suppose that he's right, but you don't want to go back up to the house just yet. You perk up. "I have an idea!" You grab Asriel's hand and pull him to the center of the garden.

"Chara? What're we doing?"

You stop and look around. This is a silly idea. Maybe you should just go back up to the house. Maybe—maybe Azzy will get mad if you ask him. _Never mind_ is on the tip of your tongue, but your mouth seems to have different plans, and you feel yourself saying, "Show me your magic."

Asriel's eyes widen and he cocks his head to the side. "Huh?"

"Just—I haven't seen it in a while. It's really pretty when you do it."

Asriel looks abashed, but he smiles. "Thanks! Uh, sure, I guess! What d'you wanna see?" He shuffles his feet nervously.

You take a step back from him and shrug. "Anything."

"Um, okay!" His smile becomes a bit shaky and he holds out his hands. A white star forms in the middle of his palm. It flies into the air, followed by another, then another, then another. You watch as the four stars swirl in the air, then converge into one star, and fly towards the high ceiling of the Underground.

"Whoa," you breathe. You turn your gaze back towards Asriel, who looks pleased. "That was so cool! That looked so cool!"

Asriel ducks his head, but he's smiling widely. "Thanks! It's not super useful or anything – it's actually kinda silly. Some pretty stars aren't really much use in a battle."

"Well, do they need to be?" you ask.

"Huh?"

You push on. "Does your magic _need_ to be battle stuff? T – Mom uses it for cooking and A - Dad uses it to heat up stuff, like tea."

"Yeah, but theirs is fire-based," Asriel says. "It's different." He huffs and sits down. You follow suit. "And still, that's like, useful stuff! They can battle _and_ they can cook. I can barely battle, and – and that's it! I can make stars and they're not even that _good!_ They _should_ be cool but instead they're just – just dumb and lame!" Asriel buries his face in his hands and you head him sniffle.

Well, fuck, that was not what you intended. You reach out a hand toward him. "Hey."

He stops sniffling but doesn't look up.

" _Azzy_ ," you say, drawing out the syllables.

He brings his hands from his face to his chest, and you grab one before he can pull it away. You squeeze it softly.

"Azzy, you goofball, it doesn't matter. Your magic is still cool, I promise! And I bet as you keep getting older, your magic will get cooler and cooler! And you'll totally be able to beat anyone!" You smile and gently tease, "As long as you're not such a crybaby."

Asriel lets out one last sniffle, but he's smiling too. "'M not a crybaby."

"Sure you're not. And I'm not a human."

Asriel laughs. "Chara!" He pushes himself off the ground and offers you a hand up. "C'mon, let's go back home.

You do. The whole walk up, and for long after you've played and then eaten dinner, your mind keeps running in circles.

You may have been reassuring him, but you really are nervous for Asriel. He's not weak, but…he should be stronger. He fights Toriel and Asgore, but you have no way of knowing just how easy they're going on him. For all you know, he could be fragile for his age or status. It wouldn't surprise you. It's not that's he's tiny or anything; he just seems so _small_. And he likes being small. He likes being _young_ , which is something you know you could never possibly understand. You hate being little or small or young or weak. You hate it.

If Asriel can't be the strong one, then you need to be. You could be strong for him.

But how could a human ever match a monster?

"Chara," Asgore calls, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You feel your face smile without your permission at his voice, but you don't try to stop it.

You don't like being small, but you suppose you'll deal with it. For now.


	21. Reminiscence

**re mi ni' scence – n., the act of recalling past experiences, events, etc.; a mental impression retained and revive**

* * *

You have decided that you were wrong. Asriel is, in fact, quite weak.

"Chara," he whines with a pitiful pout. " _Chara,_ let me up!"

You purse your lips and hum. "I think…not."

Asriel groans. "You're so mean!"

"Mhm."

"If you don't let me up, I'll yell for Mom and – _mph!_ " Asriel glares at you above the hand now covering his mouth.

You fail to hold back a laugh. "Aw, Azzy, don't be like that. Come on, you know what you have to do for me to let you up," you say in a sing-song voice.

In a sudden show of strength, Asriel shoves you off of him, and you fall to the ground with an _oof_.

"Never!" he yells valiantly, pushing himself so that he's standing up. And, because you know he can't not, he adds, a quick, "Sorry!"

You stick your tongue out at him, then quickly change your expression to one more pitiful. "Asriel, don't be so mean. Just tell me what my present is!"

Asriel, to his credit, looks stricken. He plops back into a sitting position so he's not hovering over you and lets out a huff. "Don't say that. You know I can't tell you! Don't make me feel bad."

Damn, he's right. Only a terrible person would keep pushing the issue now.

"I wouldn't have to make you feel bad if you'd just _tell_ me," you mumble, just because you need to get at least one more jab in there. Before he can respond, you quickly follow it up with, "Well, whatever. Are we gonna leave for Snowdin soon?"

Apparently, monsters celebrate Christmas – uh, Gyftmas. You are sure that there are many religious and historical questions you could ask about this change. You decide to let it lie, mostly because you're not sure if you'd really like to spend too long contemplating the strange reality you live in.

Score one for existential crises!

And you think you like the idea of focusing on presents more than you like the idea of focusing on religion, anyway. So, all's well that end's well, you suppose. Probably. You're not completely sure what that phrase means.

Asriel grins. "Not for another four days, Chara. Why're you so impatient to go to Snowdin, anyway? What, are you thinking about moving away already?" He laughs at his own joke.

You roll your eyes. "No, dork. And, well, remember when I told you about seasons and stuff on the – the surface? Okay, so we celebrate Chr – Gyftmas in the winter time, which means we have snow."

Asriel frowns. "I don't really remember a whole lot of the season stuff. You never even explained how they change!"

"I did too! Magic," you say.

"That's not how magic works," Asriel says, but he sounds unsure enough that you think you're probably right.

"How else would you explain it?" you ask. You think they explained it in school one time, but human school is dumb so you ignore whatever explanation you were told. "Maybe the surface world has magic like monsters do! Humans are just unlucky 'cause we got stuck being all boring."

"Humans are still cool, though," Asriel adds.

You hum noncommittally. "Well, anyway, I'm just excited for snow!"

Asriel frowns. "You never have been before."

You groan and flop backwards so you're leaning against your bed. "Because it's _Christmas_ now! It's different!"

Asriel moves closer to you so that he can still look you in the eye. "Why'd you call it that?"

You blink.

"Christmas," Asriel clarifies. "You said it earlier when Dad and Mom were talking about it, and again just now. Is Christmas the human version of Gyftmas? Why do humans call it that?"

"Oh. Well. I guess because you're not supposed to focus on the gifts."

Asriel laughs. "Then what do you focus on? The Christs?" He says it like _krysts._

You bite your lip. "Well, kinda, yeah. You're supposed to focus on…." You suddenly grin and sit up. "The crystals! Like – like snow crystals! _That's_ why I'm so excited about the snow." You hope the smugness you can feel radiating off yourself doesn't give you away.

So what if you're a bit nostalgic for seasons changing? If the world around you won't move, you'll just have to move around the world.

Asriel giggles. "Humans are silly."

"Oh, I didn't know you were a human," you tease.

"Huh? I'm not…Ugh, Chara! Don't be mean!" Of course, he's smiling.

"Gosh! I thought humans were ' _cool_ ,' but now being called a human is an insult?" You shake your head in mock solemnity. "Azzy, you really should make up your mind on these things."

Asriel shoves you, but apparently doesn't deign that your teasing is worthy of any more humoring. "C'mon, Dad wanted us to help him decorate before dinner, remember? We played for long enough." He stands up and offers you a hand.

You take it. You and Asriel hold hands for a bit, standing close enough that you're weighing the pros and cons of pulling him into a hug when he laughs loudly.

"I'm still not telling you what your present is!" He turns and runs out the door and down the hall, probably looking dumb and childish.

And you try not to over-think just how much you really, really love Asriel.

And you fail, but only a little bit.

"Where's the tree?" you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Asgore stops arranging lights and turns to face you. "I'm sorry?"

Wow, way to go! You walk into the room and immediately question a family's traditions. Or, wait – you should be allowed to question them since you're a part of the family now, right? Damn, being mentally stable is harder than they make it look.

Asriel seems to understand. "Oh! Is that a Christmas thing, too?" He looks at Asgore. "Chara was telling me all about how humans celebrate Gyftmas different than us! So, like, instead of focusing on giving and receiving, they focus on snow."

Maybe misinforming Asriel wasn't the best idea. " _Christmas_ " must sound super lame to them.

Asgore's eyes light up. "Chara, would you be willing to tell us more about Christmas?"

Hm. Never mind. This is going to be _so_ fun.

"Well, we focus on presents, too! We just have other stuff. Like I said – snow is super important. And the tree! But one of the most important parts is Santa Claus. He's like, the…leader of Christmas, kinda!"

"Christmas has a _leader?_ " Asriel sounds amazed. "Cool! What's he like?"

"Well, he's fat," you explain. "You write him a letter and he gives you presents."

"Can I write him a letter?" Asriel asks as soon as you finish.

You glance at Asgore, who looks a bit overwhelmed. You turn back to Asriel. "Hel-heck yeah! Let's go!" You drag Asriel over to the table. You'll explain everything to Asgore later. And you try to explain as much with a pointed look.

Asgore sighs and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Ah, children…" before he carries an armful of empty boxes back down the hallway.

Considering there are two ten-year-olds in the house, the kitchen table is covered in papers and crayons. You grab two empty sheets and set one in front of you and the other in front of Asriel. You pick up a crayon without paying attention to its color and begin explaining.

"Alright, so you need to address the letter to Santa Clause, and then just write out what present you want! And then we give the letters to our parents, because parents know how to get the letters to Santa."

Asriel frowns. "But my parents don't know Santa like you do. How will they get the letter to him?"

"They just will," you console him. "Trust me on this, okay?"

Asriel sighs. "Okay." He picks out a suitably serious color for his letter (gray), and you notice that your crayon is red.

Well, you suppose it's festive at the very least.

You've never written a real letter to _Santa_ before. In school, some of the younger grades would, but you're pretty sure you just scribbled until the teacher took up the letters. And since they were just going into the trash anyway, it's not like any of your teachers felt the need to call you out on your anti-Christmas bullshit.

You look at Asriel out of the corner of your eye. He's sticking out his tongue a little bit and holding the crayon with precision.

You wish you could be that excited about something this dumb. You turn back to your own letter and get to writing.

After a few minutes, Asriel slams down his crayon and announces, "Done!"

You peak over at his letter.

 _-D-e-e-r- Dear Mister Claws,_

"No, not _claws,_ " you say. "It's like _cause_ , like cause and effect, but without the _E_ , and add an _L_ ," you explain.

Asriel nods. "I see." He corrects his spelling and you read the rest of what he's written so far.

 _Howdy! My name is Asriel Dreemurr. I think you sound really nice and cool! Chara says they know you, I hope you like them because they are very nice and cool! I don't_ _need_ _any thing but I think that a box of crayons would be cool, thank you! =) 3_

"Well, will he like it, do you think?" Asriel asks, and you're pretty sure he's trying to sound casual.

"'Course he will," you say, smiling. "I'll bet it's gonna be the best letter he's ever had! He'll probably even save it," you add in a conspiratorial voice, "and he only does that with the best letters."

Are you laying it on a little thick? Yeah. But you think it's worth it to see Asriel practically glow like this.

"Aw, shucks! Thanks, Chara, that's really nice of you to say." His smile is so big that you can barely see his eyes.

You let out a small laugh. "Why'd you circle our names, though? And the 'box of crayons?'"

"I circled the most important words in case he doesn't have time to read the whole thing." His tone implies that he thinks that should have been obvious. You suppose it makes sense. "Let me read yours now!"

You slide over your letter to _Santa._ Asriel is cute, but he's a bit silly to believe in such a childish thing.

( _He only believes because he trusts you so much._ )

Oh, pipe down, you! You don't need or want to consider the moral depth of your actions.

"Hi Santa," Asriel reads aloud, "How are you? I am good. I would like to ask for some black yarn please, thank you. Merry Christmas, sir. Chara Dreemurr." He frowns. "Why were you so…formal?" He blinks. "Uh, well, never mind! I just didn't expect your letter to sound like that."

You raise your eyebrows.

Asriel looks like he regrets saying anything. "Um, well, you're a really friendly person so I thought maybe – is this mean?" he interrupts himself. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say something mean, I was just confused."

You shrug and take your letter back. "Santa is still an adult. It's hard to be friendly with adults."

"What about Mom and Dad?"

You sigh and look down at your letter. "They're just different, I guess. I don't know."

"That's okay!" Asriel says. You glance up at him. "I mean, that's okay that you don't know. I don't know a lot of things!"

You laugh, surprising yourself. "You're such a dork."

He only grins. "C'mon, let's go give these letters to Dad so that he can give them to Santa!" Asriel grabs your letter and puts it on top of his own, then hops up from the table and runs down the hallway.

You follow after him at a much more reasonable pace with a slightly bemused smile on your face. You haven't been this excited for Christmas since…ever, now that you think about it. To you, Christmas, and winter as a whole, was about being outside. Your fingers would turn blue and you could never stop shaking. Your clothes would get wet and your cheeks were even redder than usual. And it was amazing. No one would follow you outside in that kind of weather, and even if they did, you could always outlast them. Sure, flowers and trees would wilt and die, but you knew that they would come back.

You blink.

Why are you sentimental for the surface? The surface was terrible! You shouldn't be having a single good thought about it. Your life is infinitely better now, so you should just stop thinking about any of the minor good things that happened when you lived with the humans. Just focus on the here and now – don't worry about what they're doing, or how they reacted to you leaving – you grit your teeth. _Stop it!_

"Stop what?" you hear Asriel say.

He's farther down the hallway, and has apparently stopped to turn and look at you.

"Stop what?" he repeats, sounding worried.

"Not you," you say. "That was – I was just thinking out loud. Being silly."

His eyes soften. "You're not silly." He runs back to you and grabs your hand. "Come on!"

You almost roll your eyes at his antics. Asriel is a very…soft person. He's considerate. And you think that's good, when it's aimed at you – or his parents, you suppose. But it's dangerous to want to help everyone. Asriel is nice, yes, but you almost think he might be _too_ nice.

"Hey, Dad!" Asriel calls when you reach Asgore's door. "We have the letters!"

Asgore is sorting through a bureau when you enter his room. He smiles. "Ah, good work, you two. I will…make sure these get to Santa." He looks to you for confirmation and you nod subtly. "Asriel, will you go ask your mother if she needs any help with dinner?"

"Sure!" He looks at you, but you wave him on. He bites his lip, but leaves the room without any further comments.

Asgore clears his throat. "Ah, I am not quite sure how to approach this. I have a few questions about this Santa that you told Asriel about. How does this Mr. Claus fellow operate? I would assume he only visits human children, since we have never encountered him before. However, I do not want Asriel to be left out."

"Santa isn't real," you say before he can get any further. You feel a faint sense of amusement at being a child who has to explain this to an adult. And he looks so earnest, too. "He's a myth," you continue. "Adults just say that he's real, but in reality, the adults are the closest thing to Santa you'll get. Some adults even dress up like him, and other adults dress up like elves."

(To be fair, you thought monsters were a myth for most of your life, too. Who's to say that Santa isn't living up at the North Pole – only underground?)

"Ah. Hm." Asgore's eyebrows draw together. "I am afraid I do not understand. Why did you speak about him as though he was a real human?"

"It's a tradition." You shrug. "When I lived on the – um, surface, my – my p-parents, they never – um, never really…um, perpetuated it."

 _Gold star. A+._

"But I knew about Santa!" you continue. "Even though you know he's not real, well…You don't just spoil Santa for other kids, because some of the littler ones still believe in him."

You did, in fact, spoil Santa for many children. Was it petty? Yes. Did you enjoy it? Hell yeah.

Asgore nods. "I see." He turns his head a bit to the side. "It is normal to lie to children on the surface?"

"Super normal. Happens all the time, in fact."

Asgore looks unsure about that. "But only with little things – like Santa. Yes?"

"Sure." _Wait, fuck_ – "I mean, yeah! Yes."

He hums. "If you are sure." He smiles. "Thank you for telling me about this, Chara! It is fascinating to learn about the humans' traditions. Would you tell me more about them, please? What does…Santa look like?"

You grin. "Hang on, I can draw him!"

With your amazing art skills (and Asgore's pen and scrap paper), you are able to draw Santa, a reindeer, and an elf. You explain cookies and milk and chimneys.

"Where does Santa fit in with the tree?" Asgore asks.

Which is actually a really great question. You have no clue. "Uh, I think he just like how it looks. Maybe he likes the lights. There are also stocking and wreaths and–"

"Chara," Asgore gently interrupts, "would you be too upset if we did not have a traditional human Christmas? I know you must miss it, as you talk about it with such fondness and excitement, but it is a bit difficult to make all these preparations on such short notice. I will do my best to incorporate Mr. Claus, and many of the monsters already love the idea of Gyftmas trees! But please, perhaps we could…." He trails off, looking apologetic.

"Oh…uh, yeah! Absolutely!" you try to say enthusiastically. "Christmas is…is kinda silly! I just thought you wanted to know a lot about it."

"I certainly do," Asgore replies, "but it is a bit overwhelming, you must understand." He smiles. "We will still do our best to accommodate your traditions, of course! But instead of changing everything….I suppose I am asking if we could….Hm."

He's weighing his words too much for your comfort. "Yeah!" you say, already pushing back from your place at the table and grabbing your dumb drawings. "Of course! It's still Gyftmas, right? It's still your holiday!" You're such an idiot. Why were you pushing for Christmas traditions, anyway? Why won't you just forget about everything?

"Chara." He sounds like a stern parent and it makes your skin crawl. "It is your holiday as well! I do not want you to feel bad for having traditions that you are used to, and would like to recreate."

"But I shouldn't _want_ to," you blurt. Your chest feels tight and you avoid his eyes because you can feel yours stinging. "I shouldn't want to remember it, and for the most part, I don't! I want to forget, and I want to change, but i-it's hard! It's really, really h-hard and I – I'm torn between missing it and hating it and–" And there's more, Christ, there's so much more, but you need to stop right now. You clamp your mouth shut so tightly that you hurt your jaw and you close your eyes and take a deep breath and then you open them again. Asgore looks sad. So you graciously excuse yourself. "I get that it's _our_ holiday, I just – I just – I –" You feel like you might cry. "I'm gonna go to my room."

You turn around and almost fall when you do, but you manage to make it down the hallway and into your empty bedroom.

You tear up the dumb papers with their dumb drawings. You give yourself a paper cut, and the pain is sharp and good and terrible and you try to do it again. It doesn't work.

Frustrated, you throw the scraps down and flop carelessly onto your bed. Why are you such an emotional idiot? You need to calm down. What the fuck was that? What the hell is wrong with you?

You take a deep breath and roll over onto your stomach. You finger starts to sting and you look at the paper cut on it with disinterest. It's red, and there's blood, but it's not dripping or anything. You stick it in your mouth ( _like a child_ ) because you don't want to get any blood on the sheets.

You need to suck it up. You need to stop being a wimp. You need to just – just _forget_ about the surface. You have everything you could ever want right here! Just focus on – on Asgore, and Asriel, and Toriel. They're good, and they like you, even though you're bad.

You bring a hand to the collar of your shirt and pull at it. It feels too tight, even though you know it's not. You get the feeling that anything would be too tight right now. It would be easier if you didn't have a body; if you didn't have to worry about eating or crying or feeling or thinking. You don't want to be dead….

Wait, no, yeah, you do. That's actually exactly what you want.

You cover your eyes with you arms and laugh. You're pathetic.

Whatever.

You hear a knock on the door and you jerk, sitting up before you call, "Um, yeah?"

The door cracks open and Asriel pokes his head in. "Chara? You've been in here for a while? Did you take a nap?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry." How long have you been in here? You must have zoned out.

Asriel smiles. "It's okay! We're about to eat dinner, are you hungry?"

You're not. "Yeah, sure." You push yourself out of bed, stand, and stretch. Asriel waits for you and you walk to the living room together.

"I hope you like dinner! Mom made this sweet potato thingy that I think tastes really good, and I helped make these cinnamon-sugar-bread things! Mom wanted them to be for dessert, but I said they would be better with the main meal. Oh, and ham!"

You reach the table and Asriel pulls your chair out for you. "Thanks," you mumble.

He gives you a half-smile and takes his own seat.

Asgore and Toriel bring out all the dishes at once, which seems a bit dangerous to you, but neither of them look concerned. Toriel looks pleased, actually; Asgore meets your eyes and smiles softly. You return it with a bit of effort.

They set the table and the aroma is overwhelming. Honestly, it smells like…Christmas.

Then you look at Asriel's excited face, and you change your mind.

It smells like Gyftmas.


	22. Levity

**levity - n., lightness of mind, character, or behavior**

* * *

Four days later, decorations are mostly finished, and you're _finally_ on your way to Snowdin.

Asriel still hasn't told you what he's getting you for Chr – Gyftmas. Of course, you haven't told him _your_ gift either, but it's still unfair! Plus, your gift is kinda lame. You've finished Asgore's sweater (you also made some cool-ass macaroni art for him using the method that Toriel taught you), and for Toriel, you drew a picture of you all standing together. You feel like she'll like it. But for Asriel, you just drew a picture of him, except the "cool version" – the one where he has colorful magic and wings. And you know it's lame, but Asriel is also lame, so you're pretty sure he'll like it.

When you see the first hint of snow after the damp and dark of Waterfall, you can't stop a smile from spreading across your face.

You hear Asriel laugh, but you ignore him and walk faster. Finally, you hear your feet crunch the snow; you bend down to pick up a handful and make an impromptu snowball.

When you hear Asriel come up behind you, you throw the snowball at him. It barely hits him, only skimming the side of his arm, but you're pleased regardless. He stares at his arm incredulously, as though he can't believe that the remains of the snow on his sweater are real.

"Well?" you say. "What, no retaliation?"

Asriel looks confused.

"Aren't you gonna fight back?" you prompt him. You then realize that maybe snowball fights are a human thing; Asriel is probably completely at a loss for what to do. You open your mouth – to explain or apologize or something – but then he starts laughing.

"Really?" he asks, sounding elated. He looks back to you and is, unsurprisingly, teary-eyed. Or you're sure it would be unsurprising if people normally got even mildly emotional about snowball fights.

"Well, yeah!" you say, trying to keep your voice from sounding confused. "You know what a snowball fight is, right?"

"Of course I do! We visit Snowdin all the time – tons of kids have them – but I've never – never…." He trails off.

You're not entirely sure what the protocol here is, so you pick up more snow, crush it together, and throw it at him.

He stares at the now white spot on his chest.

You grin. "First time for everything, right?"

"Oh, you're just asking for it now!" Asriel giggles. "C'mon, I know where we should go!" He moves closer to you and grabs your arm, then pulls you off to the side a bit before stopping abruptly. "Oh, whoops, hang on." Still holding onto your arm, he drags you back to the beginning of Snowdin, where Asgore and Toriel are walking slowly and holding hands.

Asgore smiles at you. "Excited for the snow, Chara?"

"Yeah! Asriel and I are gonna have a snowball fight."

Toriel looks faintly surprised, but after a moment, rather pleased. "As long as you are careful, my children. Would you both prefer to stay here while Gorey and I walk to the Ruins?"

Asriel gasps. "Can we really?"

"Of course," Toriel says, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair. He pretends like he doesn't like it, halfheartedly swatting at her hand. "As long as you two stay together. And you make sure to go inside if you start to get too cold. And if you get hungry, buy something from the new store that kind lady opened up. And if you –"

" _OkayMom talk to you later we will love you bye!_ " Asriel interrupts, speaking loud and fast.

He turns on his heel and runs away, and you say a quick, "Bye!" before you take off after him. You follow him to the area he was trying to drag you towards. You bypass a few lines of trees, struggling to keep up in the unfamiliar territory. After a few seconds of jogging, you find yourself in a clearing.

It smells piney and fresh. The snow in this area has clearly been played in – it's uneven, with bare areas and some fort-like structures, and there's even an odd-looking snow angel near the middle.

Asriel is looking at you for your reaction, so you give him a quick thumbs up. He looks vaguely confused, but is apparently too excited to worry about weird human customs because he starts rambling. "Mom and Dad have never let me stay here alone – here in Snowdin, I mean – but I guess it's the same for other places too – and that even happened, even when I tried to say that I was staying with some of the other kids, but I guess that's fair because the kids don't really like it when I play with them and maybe Mom and Dad knew I was exaggerating how much they…liked…me…." He's looking down at the snow, and his shoulders are hunched. "Uh! I mean. Well. Uh."

You snort and walk over to him. "Azzy, who cares about those other kids? They're obviously idiots if they don't want to hang out with you." You hit his arm lightly.

His eyes go wide and he gapes. "Chara! You can't – you can't say that!"

You scoff. "Well, they are. You're obviously better than them, so why does it matter if –?"

With a small cry, Asriel buries his face in his hands. "Don't say that! That's what everyone seems to think, and that's why none of the kids want to hang out with me!"

You cross your arms. "Asriel! Stop whining, jeez!" You close your eyes and sigh. "That was mean, sorry. But listen – we don't need the other kids, okay? Would you rather hang out with them than me?"

"Of course not!" he nearly yells. "Of course not," he repeats in a softer voice. "But it's just – well, all of the kids think that _I_ think I'm better than them, but I'm not! I'm really not! I'm a crybaby, and no one ever wants to play with me."

"But you just _said_ that you'd rather play with me, right?"

"Yeah…."

"Then it's okay, right?" You huff and plop down in the snow; Asriel sits with you. "Look, on the surface, it – it was like that for me too, y'know? All of the other kids were mean and they didn't like me." You sit up straighter. "But that doesn't matter now, because I have you!"

Asriel smiles brightly.

"I like being with you, and it's okay if I can't play with anyone else because you're the most…the most best!"

He laughs, and you notice that he seems a lot less nervous. "I think you're the best, too!" He absently draws shapes in the snow. "I think I've told you before, but it's true that a lot of the kids don't like me. They always let me win when I'd try to play games with them, and it made me really upset because it felt unfair."

You drop your hand into the snow while Asriel is looking away. "Well, you don't have to worry about that with me."

He glances up. "Huh?" A handful of snow hits him in the face, and he sputters and blinks rapidly. "Ch-Chara!"

You get up and run away before he can think to throw some back. "Don't worry, I'll never lose to you!"

After a moment, Asriel smiles, then doubles over from laughter. When he stands up, he seems lighter, which relieves you as much as it confuses you.

When you're upset, you wallow. As soon as he isn't directly faced with his feelings or problems, Asriel is…fine. You think that that's kind of unfair, but at the same time, you're glad he doesn't have to deal with the same circular, obsessive thoughts that you do.

A snowball hits you in the stomach.

"Oh, sure, M-Mx. I-Won't-Lose-To-Anyone! You're gonna need to step up your game if you're gonna beat me!" Asriel yells from behind a tree.

You take a second to revel in the fact that he remembered that silly _Mx._ thing that Doctor Gaster had used; then, all bets are off.

You put on your creepy face for maximum intimidation points. Sadly, you can't hold it for more than a few seconds, but you think you made your point because Asriel squeals, and then laughs. He's somehow so giddy after having that – that weird, pseudo-breakdown, but you don't question it. Honestly, you're just relieved that you don't have to keep cheering him up; being positive is hard enough when it's just for yourself, and it's somehow more difficult when it's for someone else, even when that someone is Asriel.

"Just because you're making faces doesn't mean you can throw snowballs good!" Asriel taunts. At least, you get the feeling it's supposed to be a taunt.

You concede his logic with a small nod and then grin, darting behind a tree. You switch to another, then another, so that he can't tell quite where you are. You're quiet on your feet, even when the ground is crunchy, which you suppose is one good thing that came out of having to hide outside during winter months.

You kneel and make a few crude snowballs, and you can feel the tips of your fingers start to go numb. You bring them to your mouth and huff onto them. Holding three snowballs in the crook of your arm, you stand and slowly peek around the side of the tree.

From your position, your view of the clearing is heavily obscured by trees, but you don't see any movement. You don't move back behind the tree; instead, you try to stand as still as possible.

After about ten seconds, you see movement across the clearing, a couple feet behind the tree line. You stay very, very still.

You see the tip of Asriel's nose behind a tree. You bite back a grin and slowly move back, confident that he can't see you. You count one, two, three; and then switch trees. You reach down and grab a handful of snow and crush it into a tiny ball to use as a diversion, should you need one. You shift tress again and again, making sure to keep out of Asriel's line of sight.

Your patience rewards you when Asriel, clearly getting bored, sticks his entire head into the clearing. Seeing no sign of you, he calls, "Chara? Are you still there?" When he receives no response, he steps out from behind the tree, one snowball in his right hand, looking sad. "Chara! You didn't leave, did you? I thought you wanted to —"

You hurl a snowball and it hits him in the shoulder.

He yelps and whirls around, throwing his in your general direction. It misses, but you huff out a laugh and give away your position. He spots your tree and says, "Hey!"

Before he can make a new snowball, you throw your last two in quick succession. One hits his thigh, and the other lands on his ear. It leaves him with a powdery layer of snow covering the fur on the side of his head, and you laugh loudly.

He pouts and wipes the snow off. "C'mon, that wasn't fair! I didn't know where you were!"

"That's the point of the game, Azzy," you say, trying to bite back a smile. "I'm just better at staying hidden."

He continues to whine, but you maintain that you're simply better at snowball fights than him – after all, like you said, you didn't get hit once. Seeing that he's still rather upset, you reach out with your right hand and pull him into a hug. You can feel the cold side of his head against your neck, and though he's grumbling Asriel already seems more pacified.

You put your tiny diversion snowball down the back of his sweater.

He pushes you back so hard that you fall down into the snow, but you can't even bring yourself to be bothered by it. Your hair is getting wet from the snow, but you can only laugh as you hear Asriel yelping and jumping around and trying to get it out.

Holy shit, that was even better than you'd thought it'd be! You've seen some kids on the surface do it to each other, and it had always seemed rather mean-spirited. But really, you can absolutely see the appeal. That was _hilarious_. Asriel, you think, has the best reactions. Not that you like teasing him, but you absolutely like teasing him.

(Partially because you mostly know that he won't hate you for it.)

Asriel is still complaining, his voice loud and high-pitched, when you finally sit up and shake the snow out of your hair. Your fingers are almost completely numb, and your nose is starting to feel runny, but you don't pay much attention to that. Asriel doesn't seem cold, after all, so you don't want to mention it.

Rather, he's still preoccupied with your trick.

"Azzy, hush!" you interrupt. "It was just a joke. It was funny!" As if to prove your point, you grin widely.

"Aw, don't do your creepy face Chara!"

Your stomach drops.

"Besides," he says, still brushing snow off of himself, "it wasn't a very funny joke. Now my shirt is wet…What if Mom doesn't let us stay alone again?"

"Well, just don't tell her," you say robotically. Creepy? You weren't…You….

Asriel huffs. "I mean, I guess I could leave out the part where I got upset." He crosses his arms. "But I'm still gonna say that you cheated at that snowball fight!"

"Right, of course." To you, your voice sounds distant, but Asriel doesn't seem to notice anything is wrong, because you think he's still talking. You wonder what he's saying. You wonder more what your face looks like right now.

You weren't doing your creepy face and…Asriel knows how you feel about your eyes, right? Your eyes are weird. Why would he call your normal smile creepy? Was he making fun of you? Or did…did your face really look scary because you were happy.

You straighten your back as though someone put a metal pole behind your spine.

 _It doesn't matter._ It doesn't matter if you look creepy because you're bad anyway, remember? Evil and bad. Fine. Whatever. Bad people should be creepy.

But if you're bad, then why do you care what Asriel thinks about you?

Because Asriel is different, you tell yourself. You can be evil and bad and hurt other people and still want to hug Asriel, right?

You watch him talk animatedly without really listening to what he's saying. His eyes flash, and his hands wave, and his voice is probably louder than it needs to be. He keeps stomping his feet and kicking snow and looking around, his gaze hopping from place to place, but never losing its vibrancy.

Right, you answer yourself. You relax a bit, and take a deep breath; then, you mentally prepare yourself to alleviate Asriel's agitation.

After a bit, you return to Snowdin. You see Toriel and Asgore talking to the shopkeeper, who's leaning on some male-presenting bunny's arm. A couple, you think, because they don't look or seem like family. But then, you wonder if you'd really be able to tell the difference.

When you and Asriel begin walking towards them, Toriel and Asgore excuse themselves and meet you in the middle of town. You wave half-heartedly in greeting.

"Chara cheated," Asriel sulks, crossing his arms, before anyone else can say anything.

Asgore raises an eyebrow and looks faintly amused. "Did they, now? How so?" He keeps walking; Asriel falls in step, and the two lead the way out of Snowdin.

"Yeah, they did!" He uncrosses his arms so that he can wave them around wildly. "We were playing in the snow and –"

He recounts his version of events. You already know this story, so you turn your attention back to Toriel.

You clear your throat. "Hey, Mo – Um, Tor – M – uh, hey, what's for dinner tonight?" you ask her. You nearly wince at your own awkwardness. You keep thinking that you're over this, but sometimes the words will get caught in your throat and you physically feel like you _can't_ say them. Why can't you just say it? You do lo…you really like Toriel, and you know that she's a great mom! You're pissed off at yourself for having trouble saying it.

You think Toriel answered, but as you enter Waterfall, you catch yourself shivering violently. The damp air seeps through your clothes and skin and bones. It's much more uncomfortable now than it had been on the way there.

Toriel notices. "My child, are you alright?" she asks, reaching out a hand to touch your shoulder.

You shrug it off. "Fine, just cold."

Toriel finally seems to notice your wet hair and clothes. "Oh, my goodness! Oh, Chara, you must be freezing!" She raises her voice. "Gorey, Ree, dears! Would you wait up for a moment, please?"

As you catch up with the other two, you put your hands near your mouth so that you can breathe on your fingers.

Abruptly, Toriel moves in front of you and stops; you narrowly avoid bumping into her. Her eyes are somehow both soft and hard. "Here, my child." She touches your arm and brings your hands away from your mouth and holds them between her hands. You have to admit that they are quite warm – much like how you imagine gloves would be – but you feel your face heat up as well.

Your instinctual thoughts are the usual suspects: you're bothering her she's annoyed at you for not having said anything; you don't deserve to have someone care about you enough to do something like this.

Your hands start to feel hot and you make an effort to hold still and not jerk away. When you feel like there are flames on your hands, though, you try to pull back. She lets your hands go and you see that they're a light red.

On the bright side, you can feel your fingers (even if most of that feeling is an annoying tingling sensation).

Toriel stands, and you see Asgore behind her. Asriel runs around her to your side.

"Why didn't you say you were hurt?" he asks.

"Asriel," Toriel chides gently. You don't know why. "It is alright now, regardless. We should get home so we may make hot chocolate and tea, and I can begin fixing dinner."

"I wasn't hurt," you argue as you start walking through Waterfall. "I was just cold." You still are; your nose, chest, legs, and feet are all still blocks of ice. And your hair is annoyingly wet. You're gonna need to dry off when you get home, which sounds like a hassle. "Besides," you continue, "why should I complain when you're fine!"

"I have _fur!_ " he nearly yells.

…Oh. Right.

You screw up your face. "Well, I have…! Um, a sweater!" you counter weakly.

Asriel is unconvinced. "Most kids have sweaters, but that's not enough for snow."

You roll your eyes. "Then why didn't you say anything earlier!"

He looks abashed. "I was distracted, and then we were playing. And that's not fair to blame me! You should have said if you were uncomfortable, y'know."

"I didn't want to take away from your fun," you say, which is maybe kinda true. Jeez, if Toriel found out you spent all your winters like that, you get the feeling you'd been in for more than just a cup of hot chocolate.

Asriel frowns. "It's more important for you to be okay! I have fun when I know that you're feeling okay and not hurt."

You hum. Toriel and Asgore are still in front of you, currently speaking to some…what are they? Tom…Tim…Temmies! They're talking to a group of Temmies. Toriel seems to be handling the situation better than Asgore is, though; he looks rather overwhelmed.

As you continue your trek home, keeping a few feet back, Asriel talks.

"You are really good at snowball fights, Chara!" he says happily. "Have you had a lot of them?"

You half-shrug.

"Well, I bet you were always the best at them. And the… _coolest_."

You snort before you can stop yourself. Asriel looks proud, but you say, "Oh, come on, that one wasn't even clever. It's snow problem to make a pun like that."

Asriel giggles. "Aw, you're really giving me the cold shoulder here! Yours wasn't that creative either!"

"What else could I say? I'm frozen with indecision." You voice is wry, but seeing Asriel so amused makes you smile a bit.

You hear Toriel laugh. "Chara, do not be rude; be _ice_ to Asriel!"

"Snow!" Asgore adds.

"Thanks, Dad," Asriel replies.

You shake your head and huff, and then bring your warm fingers to your cold neck. You shiver slightly, but you don't think Asriel notices. Surprisingly, talking about snow reminded you that your hair is still soaking and dripping onto your neck. Luckily, you're close to Hotland. You walk under the big, craggy mountain-like thing and then down a narrow corridor that forces Asgore to walk behind Toriel instead of next to her. You and Asriel are able to stay shoulder to shoulder.

You imagine being older and bigger than you are now. You glance down at your frail body and look back up within the same second. You don't think you could ever be broad or tall or anything like that. You're stuck being weak and frail, and suddenly you're a little pissed off.

The abrupt changeover from dampness to heat makes your toes and nose tingle. You grimace at the unpleasant sensation. You admit that it's marginally better than being cold. Being cold sucks; you know how to put up with it, but since living with the Dreemurrs and their perpetually lit fireplace and numerous knitted quilts, you've grown accustomed to warmth.

You see Gaster's lab as you continue walking. The building fits him, you think; starkly white, disturbingly blank, and kinda intimidating. Looming and out of place. Toriel and Asgore don't walk up to it, though, which you're grateful for. They turn left and you're on your way up and out of Hotland when you hear a door open behind you.

You slow down and glance over your shoulder. Back at the lab, Sans is storming out, dragging a…toddler? He's with a smaller kid who's wearing garish red clothing that clashes harshly with Sans's gray hoodie. Sans also looks pissed, you notice. You wonder why.

And then you remember that you kind of don't care, and turn around.

Asriel hadn't noticed that you'd stopped walking so you take long, quick strides to catch up with him. He glances over at you when you suddenly appear by his side, but he obviously doesn't think anything of it, as reaches out a hand for you to hold. You take it and walk in step with him through the rest of Hotland, all the while silently hoping (perhaps pointlessly, futilely, but intensely nonetheless) that Toriel doesn't make you take a bath when you get home.


	23. Conviviality

**con viv i al' i ty - n., the quality of being friendly and lively; friendliness**

* * *

Toriel made you take a bath when you got home, but at least she let you help her cook.

Today – two days later – however, she's not letting anyone into the kitchen. She's rushing and bustling around and almost always has something in her arms, but every time she sees you, she makes sure to stop and ask how you're doing. You appreciate it.

Asriel had woken you up this morning with intermittent squeals of excitement. When, with still-closed eyes, you asked him to shut up _please_ , he responded by jumping on your bed and saying, "I can't! It's Gyftmas," and squealing again.

Toriel had brought you and Asriel some wrapping paper soon after she heard the commotion, so your presents are currently sitting under the tree in the living room (dragged all the way from Snowdin), and covered in pine needles. You tried to explain the concepts of ornaments and tinsel and lights, but you gave up and ended up settling for homemade paper ornaments – made by you and Asriel. It makes the tree look childish, but you kinda like it.

Currently, you and Asriel are sitting in front of the fireplace in the freshly-decorated living room, sipping on hot chocolate that Toriel had given you once when she was passing through. She also gave you a bar of chocolate, which made you very happy. (Okay, well, she gave you a bar to split with Asriel, but he said you could have the whole thing!) There are also tiny marshmallows in your hot chocolate; you lit up when you saw them because you've never had them before. They're so cute and cool! The texture, you've noticed, is kinda weird, but you like them anyway.

Asriel, though, doesn't seem to like them.

"They melt too fast," he complains.

You shush him and cover your cup with your hand. "Don't let them hear you say that! They're doing their best, okay?"

Asriel snorts. "Well, their best is kinda pointless." He swishes his drink around. "See? They're already all gone."

You look in your own cup and see that the same fate has befallen your small, gooey comrades. " _Nooo_ ," you drawl, pouting.

Asriel laughs, causing him to accidentally spill some of his hot chocolate on his pants and onto the floor. He yelps at the heat.

"It's because you made fun of the marshmallows," you observe.

"Chara!" he says, trying to wipe the drink off. "Go get me some towels; don't just sit there!"

You get up and set your mug on the dining room table, then carefully walk to the kitchen, hovering in the doorway.

"Um, Mom?" you call to get Toriel's attention.

She whirls around from her place at the counter, knife still in hand. Your eyes involuntarily widen – she looks so _cool_. "Yes, my child? What do you need?"

Her voice is a bit more strained than usual, but you try not to let it bother you. "Uh, Azzy needs some towels, he spilled –"

Toriel sets down the knife and grabs three dishtowels out of a drawer. "If you need something more, go ask your father for a bath towel, alright? Thank you, my child!"

She ushers you out of the kitchen.

You take a moment to gather yourself before you go over to Asriel and help him clean up his mess.

"Aw, I'm gonna have to change and take a bath!" He frowns. "Everything is all sticky and gross…And I don't even have any more hot chocolate to drink…." His voice wobbles.

You sigh and stand, returning with your own mug and shoving it into his hands. "Here."

He gapes. "Really?!" He holds it back out to you. "No, that's mean! You really, really like chocolate!"

You raise an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah? 'Cause chocolate's the best." And a rarity (or at least, it used to be). "But it's fine, swear. You can drink it and then go clean up."

Asriel practically glows. "Oh, thank you so much! That's so nice of you!" He quickly leans forward to give you a hug.

The sudden momentum jostles the cup and it spills onto your sweater. Onto your lap. Onto the floor. It's not hot enough to burn, but it's warm enough to hurt. Your clothes turn a dark, ugly shade when mixed with the brown and it puddles on the floor.

You feel sudden anger like a hot stove eye inside of your chest – pressing, dull, and dangerous.

Asriel freezes, and then begins babbling. "Oh gosh oh gosh _oh no_! I did – didn't for that – for that – I'm – Oh – I'm so _so sorry,_ oh no, oh _no_!"

You did something nice. And you got repaid. In a mess?

"No, it's my fault," you bite out, and you can feel the bitterness on your tongue. "I _obviously_ should not have _given_ that to you after you _wasted_ –"

"But I'm sorry!" Asriel interrupts. "I said I was sorry!"

"And I heard you!" you nearly yell. "Wow, it's almost like _sorry_ doesn't clean up this mess!"

Faster than you can take a breath, the anger in your chest turns into sickness.

Your breathing goes from heavy and deep to shallow and fast. You stutter out an apology. "I-I-I'm – I – don't – I don't know why, I'm – you – I'm – sorry."

Asriel goes from upset to comforting with the same speed. He holds both your hands in his and says softly, "Hey, it's okay. I know, it's okay, I know."

Why did – why did you…?

"I don't know," Asriel whispers. "But that's okay."

Okay.

"Okay," he says again.

Your hands move from his hands to his wrists, then forearms; he gets the message. He pulls you close and lets you rest your head on his shoulder. He continues saying that it's okay, and asking if you're okay.

"W-Why are you being…so nice to me?" You sound breathless and weak. You squeeze your eyes shut tight and make an effort to stop shaking, and then lightly push yourself back to look Asriel in the face.

He looks…soft. "You were suddenly really b – upset and I wanted you to be okay," he says simply.

But you catch it. You were bad. You were bad. You were bad.

Fine. Okay. That's fine.

So you say, "Of course," and after a beat, you add, "I understand."

He smiles. "That's good!"

The spilled drink on your clothes is cold and sticking heavily to your skin.

"Let's go clean up," Asriel says. He stands and takes the now empty mug over to the table, and then turns to you to make sure that you're following him.

You wash up in the bathroom – Asriel lets you go first. While you're in there, you scrub your skin harshly with nearly scalding water. As you're drying off, you hear Asriel and Asgore's voices outside the door, but you don't hear what they're saying.

Someone knocks on the door.

You pull a clean sweater over your head and call, "Yes?"

"You did bring in clean clothes, Chara, did you not?" Asgore says, his voice muffled through the door.

"Yes, I did."

"Alright, very good!" He falls silent and you can feel a palpable awkwardness, presumably as he attempts not to yell something like _So, you good?_

You run your fingers through your hair, but give up after encountering five knots in thirty seconds. You exit the bathroom, holding your stained clothes in one hand. As soon as you leave the bathroom, Asriel goes in.

Asgore smiles at you. "Thank you for being so responsible."

You keep your face carefully blank. "But we weren't – we spilled our drinks."

"Yes," Asgore says, taking the clothes from you, "but you cleaned it up, and began cleaning up yourselves. You did not even need to ask for help…though, here I am anyway." He chuckles.

You reluctantly crack a smile. "Thanks, ah, Dad."

He ruffles your hair lightly. "Of course, my child. And I believe that Toriel is almost done cooking our Gyftmas meal! Would you like to come help me set the table?"

"Sure." You would _love_ to set the table right now. You need to do something productive and helpful, and something to get you in a festive mood. It doesn't really feel like a holiday to you, so you need to fix that, stat.

…Unsurprisingly, physical labor doesn't make you feel much better. What _does_ is Asgore's singing as you set plates and bowls and utensils around the table.

" _Snow or heat…Fall or Spring…It's Gyftmas time Underground! Young and old…Weak and bold…It's Gyftmas time all around!_ "

His voice is low and rumbly, but comforting. You smile at the lyrics, too – they're nice, you think.

From the kitchen, you hear Toriel change the tune: " _Make your way back home…With a smile still on your face…There's no need to roam…When here you will be safe!_ "

Asgore fluidly picks up the song. " _Though you're sad right now…There is no need for tears…Join me now, I'll show you how to get through this next year!_ "

And then, together: " _Oh, sit with me, drink with me, stay with me today! Once laughter has filled your heart there'll be no need to stray – hey! Tell me hurt, tell me joy, tell me all your fears. Together we'll help each other get through the new year!_ "

And, okay, maybe you got choked up while they were singing, but only a little bit.

Toriel comes out of the kitchen laughing and wearing oven mitts with her glasses hanging low on her nose. "Oh, dear!" She walks over to Asgore with a spring in her step. "It really is, is it not?" She turns to you and kneels down. "Oh, my child – it has been nearly half a year, yes? I am torn between feeling as though we have only just met you, and feeling as though you have always been here."

You swallow around a lump in your throat and smile. "I feel the same way."

Toriel laughs again and hugs you – you feel her oven mitts on your back and her glasses digging into your shoulder, and you hold on tighter.

Toriel pulls back. "Well, then! Would you please go get Asriel, my child, and tell him that it is finally time to eat? Gorey and I will bring out the food. And after that, of course, there will be presents!"

She doesn't have to tell you twice. Whatever is cooking in the kitchen smells delicious! You retrieve Asriel from your shared room (where you found him cleaning up; he turned around when you opened the door with an odd air of guilt that you stoutly ignored) and you both take your seats at the table.

It's completely filled – with ham and chicken, potatoes cooked three different ways and corn and green beans and rice and broccoli, and some more stuff that you can't even name, and cinnamon rolls and cake and at least three pies (you're almost positive there are more in the kitchen).

While you take in the grandeur of the display, the other three fill their plates without hesitation. Sitting demurely at the edge of the table are two pitchers, so you decide to get something to drink first. You go with water, and then pass the jug to Asriel. You get some chicken and some of the scalloped potatoes, two cinnamon rolls, and one slice of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. You're definitely not going to let this opportunity to eat dessert before dinner go to waste.

The flood of smells is nearly overwhelming, even after having sat at the table for a while. By the time you clean off your plate, the food is cooling down, but it still smells like butter and spices and sugar. Holidays shouldn't smell like leftovers or dirty clothes or burnt pans – they should smell just like this.

A real holiday. A real home. A real family.

And maybe you shouldn't need to reiterate or emphasize that so much, but every time you do, it feels like maybe one of those imaginary weights on your shoulders – well, it doesn't quite go away – more like it just shaves off a few pounds. But still. But _still_.

Everyone else goes for second servings, but you're content to simply watch. Conversation floats around the table and everything feels warm and lazy and soft.

And again, someone starts singing. This time, it's Asriel. His voice is quiet and halting.

" _Come, they told me – a boss monster soul…A new ruler-to-be – a boss monster soul…Till the angel comes back – our boss monster soul! They'll break the white and black, that good angel soul – boss monster soul – our saving souls…._ "

You don't like that one as much as the others, so you interrupt. "Where do your songs – Gyftmas songs – come from?" you ask.

You get a few curious glances aimed your way, and you fight the urge to sink in on yourself.

Asriel shrugs. "They're just tradition!"

"Well," you continue, "we had – there are songs on the surface with the same tune, but different words."

Asgore hums. "Perhaps they have a similar source or origin. Could you sing a human Gyftmas – er, Christmas song for us?"

So you sing, " _We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year!_ " You look at them expectantly.

After a moment, Asriel says, "What, is that it?"

You huff. "There's more, I just can't remember it."

"It is fascinating nonetheless," Toriel says. "Thank you for sharing, Chara!"

"Yeah, of course." Gyftmas songs are kinda cool, you think. And all of the Dreemurrs can sing! Well, except for Asriel – he's kinda bad at it, but you can forgive him.

"Chara, have you gotten enough to eat?" Asgore asks.

You nod.

Asriel gasps. "Does that mean it's time for gifts?"

Asgore holds a distant expression. "Asriel, have you gotten enough to eat?"

" _Yes_ , Dad!"

He looks at Toriel, clearly trying to hold back a smile. "Tori, have you?"

"Yes, Gorey. Have you?"

"I have indeed!"

Asriel groans and grabs your hand. "C'mon, Chara, let's go already! They _always_ do this!"

You allow Asriel to drag you over to the tree and sit down in front of it.

"Usually," Asriel says, "we just set them in front of the fireplace. The gifts, I mean. But I think they look cooler underneath the tree!"

You agree. The trees have always been one of your favorite parts of Christmas. They're always pretty and piney and…and pretty! They're just nice to look at. And this real, living tree that's covered in paper is probably the prettiest one you've ever seen.

Toriel and Asgore make their ways over as well; Toriel takes a seat in her chair, and Asgore stands near the tree.

You prepare yourself for some weird, unique Gyftmas tradition. You're torn between wanting to skip it and open the presents already – since Asriel never told you what your present was, that jerk – and actually being interested in what monster traditions are like. Maybe there'll be a speech on how giving is a way to show and strengthen the bonds between family and friends, but it is the thought behind the gift that counts, and sentimentally, and Gyftmas past, and Gyftmas _present_ (ha!), and Gyftmas future….

"Who would like to go first?" Asgore says.

"Me!" Asriel says immediately. Then he gasps. "Wait, wait, no! Chara first, Chara first!" he chants. You hit his arm, slightly embarrassed.

"I would be inclined to agree," Toriel says, smiling.

Asgore nods. "Who would like to give them theirs first?"

" _Me_!" Asriel all-but yells. Asgore smiles and picks up a small white box with a red bow from underneath the tree. He wipes off the pine needles and hands the box to Asriel, who holds it out to you with a big smile. "Here! Open it, open it!"

You take it and set it down in front of you. Everyone is staring at you. You glance back at Toriel for support. "I just…open it?"

She nods encouragingly.

You pull at the bow for a good five seconds before you realize that part is fake, and that the top just lifts off. You bend you head down to hide your burning cheeks.

Inside the box is tissue paper. Trying to hide your shaking hands, you gently pull it out and set it aside. At the bottom of the box is…a necklace.

You pick it up. It glints in the firelight and you see that it's a deep gold color. The pendant on the end is an upside-down heart shape. A heart-shaped necklace?

"Locket," Asriel says, shifting his weight. "It's a locket! So you can open it, see?" He leans over and grabs it out of your hands. He presses something on the side and pulls it so it clicks apart. On the left heart is an engraving. On the right is a piece of glass, presumably where you could put a picture.

You snatch it back and hold up the locket closer to your face so that you can see what it says. "Best friends forever," you read.

When you turn your head up to Asriel, he looks nervous. "I thought you might like it. You – obviously, you don't _have_ to wear it or anything, it's just a gift, and it's the thought that counts, right? So I think of you as my best friend but it's okay if you…." He clears his throat.

You laugh, a bit breathily. You search for words, but all you can say is, "I'm happier than I could tell you." You close the locket and put it on; it gets caught in your hair, but you ignore it, not wanting to ruin the moment. "Thank you, Asriel."

"You're welcome, Chara!" He touches his chest. "And, um, I actually got two – I have the matching one!" From under his shirt, he pulls out a nearly identical locket, the only difference being that his is right-side-up. He opens the locket and you see the same engraving on the inside, with his picture-side being empty as well.

Toriel hums. "I suppose we will have to get some pictures for those soon, yes?"

"Yeah!" Asriel says.

Asgore laughs. "Alright then, Chara, would you like your gifts from Tori and I?"

"Yes, please!" you say, nearly bouncing in excitement.

You're handed a box (one that's identical to the first), and open it much more quickly this time to see that your parents got you…a knife?

"For gardening," Asgore explains with a smile. "I have my own, so we thought it a good idea to get you your own as well."

"Or," Toriel says, "if you would prefer to have your own kitchen knife, you may have that instead. Asriel said he thought you would prefer this one, however." She nods in his direction.

Asriel was right. "Thank you," you say. "This is perfect. Thank you so much." You look at Asriel and touch your locket. "I love the both of them, Azzy! Thank you so much!"

He lights up. "'Course! I'm super happy that you like it." He absently touches his as well.

Toriel adds that she made you a sweater as well. She hands it to you – it's not wrapped, so you can see that it's solid yellow. When you hold it, you can feel how soft it is. You grin brightly and thank her.

After that, Asriel opens his presents. He clearly adores the drawing you made for him, even though he got you a better and more thoughtful present. You guess you're lucky that he's not a very picky person. Asgore and Toriel got him a stuffed animal that looks kinda like a butterfly, a new sweater (his a solid green), and a box of markers. He squealed in excitement at every present.

Toriel loves her drawing as well – she nearly tears up, which you guess means you did a good job. Asgore "got her a kiss," which seems like something of a Gyftmas joke between them. Asriel makes a gagging motion in your direction and you have to smother a giggle. Asriel got his mom a potted plant. ("With Dad's help," he admits.) It's just a couple flowers that haven't even fully bloomed, but you can tell that she's very touched by them.

Asgore gets the same present from Toriel as she got from him. You roll your eyes at Asriel in response to it and he snickers.

"Open Azzy's next," you say.

Asgore gives you a curious look, but does as you ask. Asriel had gotten him a new journal because his current one was apparently almost full. Asgore seems pleased with it.

"I helped Asriel pick it out," Toriel says. "And I also got you a new pen."

Asgore gives her a look. "Tori, you did not have to do that!"

Toriel gives him a more intense look. "And yet, I did."

Asgore rubs the back of his neck. "You did. Thank you, dear."

"Of course, darling. Now, open Chara's present!" She seems nearly as excited as you are.

You bounce in excitement. You carefully monitor Asgore's reaction. He seems a bit confused at first, but once he pulls it out and sees the whole thing, his jaw drops.

He looks at you. "You made this?" he asks in amazement.

You nod, grinning.

He looks back at the sweater. "Mr. Dad Guy," he says, looking surprisingly emotional. "This…this is amazing, Chara."

"I had to ask Toriel for help," you admit.

"Still," Asgore maintains. "You did a wonderful job."

"Thanks!" You turn to Toriel. "And thanks for the help."

She nods in acknowledgement.

"Now," Asgore says. "How about we take our gifts back to our rooms?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Toriel says.

Asriel looks a bit confused, but you all do as he said.

You set your gardening knife on the table with the lamp and throw your sweater in the wardrobe; Asriel puts away his stuff on his side of the room. You're a bit amazed that Asgore somehow convinced Toriel to let you have a goddamn _knife_ – because you _know_ that it was he who had to convince her. Not that you're complaining, of course. It's cool to have a tool to call your own; one that belongs to you and only you. And, though you know it wasn't their intention, the knife gives you a strange sense of security and safety. Like if you were down in the garden alone, and you had to defend yourself, you could.

Not that you think you would _have_ to defend yourself. Just in case, you tell yourself. Just in case.

When you come back to the living room, Toriel is sitting in her chair, but Asgore isn't back yet.

"Take a seat again," Toriel says.

"Why?" Asriel asks, even as he sits next to you.

Toriel doesn't answer him, but she does give you a wink.

"Oh, oh, oh!" you hear a deep voice say from the hallway.

Asriel cocks his head. "Dad?"

Asgore steps out from behind the door, but his beard is covered in white fluff. He's wearing a bright red suit with some more fuzz covering the hems. And, of course, a red hat. In his arms, he holds a few items close to his chest that are obscured by the suit.

"I am not Asgore!" Asgore says. "I am Santa Claus!"

Asriel gasps and his eyes widen. "Whoa, really?! Oh my gosh! That's so cool, wow!" He claps his hands. "Hi, Mr. Santa!"

Asgore laughs and again says, "Oh, oh, oh! And I have brought presents for all of you!" He juggles around the items in his arms awkwardly. He kneels down in front of you and Asriel. "For the young human, I bring a spiel of black yarn."

He hands it to you. "Thanks, Mr. Claus," you say, trying not to laugh. Asgore looks absolutely ridiculous.

He turns to Asriel. "For the prince, I come with a box of crayons!" And it's a giant one, too.

Asriel squeals. "Wow! Again! Thank you so much!"

Asgore holds out a book to Toriel. "And for the lovely queen, I have brought a cookbook!"

Toriel looks amused. "Have you, now?"

"Indeed I have," Asgore says again. "And for – oh, where is that handsome kingly fellow?"

Toriel lets out a very un-Toriel-like snort. "I believe he is a bit busy at the moment."

Asgore hangs his head sadly. "I see, I see. In that case, human child, could you please give this to the king when you see him again?" Asgore holds out a single pink flower in your direction.

You pluck it from between his fingers. "Can do, Mr. Claus," you say with a grin.

Asgore winks at you.

Asriel is still star-struck. "Thanks again, Mr. Santa Claus! You're like the coolest ever! Literally, because Chara said that you live in a super cold place."

You see a tell-tale glint in his eyes when he opens his mouth again, and you interrupt, "No more winter puns, Azzy."

Asgore clutches his chest. "Why, human child! Do not be so…cold-hearted!"

You throw up your arms in exasperation as Toriel and Asriel break down in fits of giggles. "I give up. Santa, I think you've overstayed your welcome. See you again next year."

Asriel waves. "Bye, Santa! Hope you have a good time on the surface."

Asgore suddenly seems overcome with a bit of melancholy. "Ah, I will do my best. Thank you, young prince." Now empty-handed, Asgore bows out of the room, waving both hands.

Asriel is still hyper. "Wow! I can't believe I met a – a famous human!"

You elbow him. "What, are you already looking for a new best friend?"

He catches onto your teasing tone. "Maybe! Maybe he'll be able to recognize that cinnamon sucks!"

" _Asriel!_ " Toriel says. "Do not use such language, my child."

He ducks his head in shame and says sheepishly, "Sorry, Mom."

Asgore returns, this time wearing the sweater you made him. "I did not miss anything, did I?"

"Dad, you'll never guess who showed up!" Asriel says.

You hand him the flower that Asgore gave you. "Remember to tell him that Santa brought it."

From your spot in front of the fireplace, you watch as Asriel hops up and excitedly recounts his encounter with Santa Claus.

Personally, you're a bit worn out. You stretch and yawn, then slouch over.

"Chara?" Toriel says. "Would you like to sit with me, my child?"

Your head's fuzzy enough that your only reply is, "Sure."

And you sit on Toriel's lap while Asriel continues to run around the living room. She touches your hair lightly, and when you don't object or move away, she runs her fingers through it, carefully avoiding knots and tangles. As she does, she hums. You feel your eyes close and the sound of Asriel gets more and more distant as you focus only on her voice. Toriel has a really good voice. You like it when she talks, and her singing is even better because of the cadence it adds. Humming is just as nice, though.

You don't fall asleep, per say. Your head is fuzzy, and while you're aware of your environment, you hover between consciousness and unconsciousness for an indeterminable amount of time.

"Chara? You awake?" you hear.

You drowsily blink your eyes open and reply, "Mhm."

You begin to stretch before you remember that you're sitting on someone.

You blink open your eyes faster to see Toriel looking at you with such fondness and joy that for a moment, you're not sure if you're really awake. And then you remember that, yeah, Toriel is just that amazing. You smile.

"Come on, then, let's go play!" Asriel continues.

Of course it was Asriel who woke you up. You're distantly annoyed that he didn't just let you sleep, but you suppose you would have had to wake up soon anyway.

"Thanks," you tell Toriel.

"Of course, my child. Go, now, play." Raising her voice slightly, she continues, "Just do not stay up too late. Tomorrow, we will be going on rounds."

Asriel physically throws himself onto the ground – an overdramatic technique that you're pretty sure he learned from you, though you're loathe to admit it. "Ugh, _Mom_ , can't we stay at home? You and Dad think that we're old enough to have the Delta Rune robes, and that Chara's old enough to have their own knife!"

"A garden knife," Toriel rebuts weakly.

You jump in. "Asriel is right…Mom. Besides, what would even happen to us? We're safe here, right?"

Toriel sighs. "I would just like to know with certainty that you will call me if you are hurt or upset before I leave you alone." She touches your shoulder. "You are both growing into wonderful people, but I sometimes feel like you forget that you are still children. Asgore and I are here to help you and make sure that you're safe, yes?"

"Of course we will! And we know that we are! And it is, but you guys can't always watch us!" Asriel says.

"What if we promise?" you say. "We promise that we'll call you guys if we need anything."

"Yeah!" Asriel adds.

Toriel looks pained. "My child, I love you. But I do not know if…if I trust that you will."

You recoil. "You don't trust me?"

Toriel bites her lip. "I…." She sighs. "No, not with this. I trust you with many things, my child. But I do not know if I trust you with your own health."

"Oh," you say weakly.

"Well, that's why I'm here!" Asriel puffs up his chest. "I'll watch out for Chara, and they can watch out for me. We have each other!"

Toriel eyes the both of you. "We will see," she says. "Do not argue on it further, Asriel. I will talk about it with your father, yes?"

"Alright," Asriel concedes. Changing gears, he says, "C'mon, Chara!"

"A-actually…" Asriel looks at you. "I wanted to know if I could keep the boxes."

"The boxes?"

"Yeah, the ones I got my presents in. The white and red ones."

Asriel looks at the pile of trash. "Why do you want it?"

"Asriel," Toriel chides. "Of course you may, Chara."

You grin and scramble off her lap. "Thanks!"

Asriel shrugs. "G'night, Mom! Love you, and Merry Gyftmas!"

You echo his words. "Goodnight, Mom. Merry Gyftmas!"

"Sweet dreams, my children. I love you both as well."

You flush. " _Loveyoutoo_ ," you mumble.

Boxes (and Christmas presents) in hand, you and Asriel make your way to your bedroom. You set the gift boxes them at the foot of your bed. Sure, it may seem silly, but you really like how they look! And they're you're first-ever Christmas presents. You toss the yarn into your knitting basket.

Asriel, who five minutes ago was ready to play, now looks ready to fall into his bed.

You both change into your pajamas. You keep the locket on, though.

"Hey, Chara?" Asriel says.

Brushing your hair, you say, "Same bed?"

He coughs in surprise and embarrassment. "Um, yeah, if you wanna."

You set down your hairbrush. "Duh."

He lets out a short laugh. "Well, I didn't wanna just assume!"

"Thanks," you say truthfully. "That's kind of you."

You turn off the lights and you both climb into his bed.

You lie on your back and face the ceiling, keeping one hand holding onto the locket.

"Hey, Chara," he says again.

"Yeah?"

"Merry Gyftmas. Thanks again for the drawing – I really like it!"

You didn't see where he put it, but you know he carried it back in here.

"It was pretty lame," you admit.

"Lame and cool," Asriel agrees.

You huff out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it kinda was."

You feel Asriel roll over to face you, so you do the same.

Silence.

"Do you wish you'd celebrated Christmas on the surface instead?"

"No."

"Oh."

Silence.

This time, you break it. "Do you really see me as your best friend?"

"Of course!" he answers immediately. "You're really good at coloring and at snowball fights. You have cool hair. You draw really good. Plus, you're just…nice."

You scoff. "Nice?"

"Yeah! To me, at least. But it's okay if you're not nice to everyone."

"I stuck a snowball down your sweater," you say.

"It's okay if you're not nice all the time," Asriel amends.

Silence.

"Forever?" you say.

Asriel takes a moment to respond. "Huh?"

"You really mean 'best friends _forever_ '?"

"I do," he says.

"Good," you say. "I do, too."

Silence.

Asriel takes a deep breath. "I don't want you to leave, ever." Though his words are soft, he says them with as much conviction as he can muster. "And I don't ever wanna leave you, you know?"

After a beat of silence, you smile. You reach your hand up and touch his arm, and his hand finds yours. "Me neither." You close your eyes. "So that's good, then, right? Because we'll be together forever, won't we?" It comes out sounding almost rhetorical.

"Forever," Asriel echoes. "Yeah."

Silence.


	24. Amenable

**a men' a ble - adj., open and responsive to suggestion; easily persuaded or controlled, susceptible**

* * *

Asriel isn't usually one for cleaning up. He'll do it, yeah, but it's not something he typically enjoys. So when you return from breakfast to find him cleaning up your room for the second time in as many days, you ask, "What are you doing?"

Similar to how you found him on Gyftmas, he looks at you guiltily. "What do you mean? I mean, um, cleaning!"

You lean on the door frame and cross your arms. (You hope that you look as cool and aloof as you feel.) "Since when do you clean without a reason?"

"Um." He avoids meeting your eyes.

You walk over to him and sit in front of him. You cock your head. "What are you up to?"

"Um!" He looks at the ceiling. "Nothing?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Asriel, either learn how to lie, or learn not to lie to me."

He flushes. "W-well! It's just that I…" He bites his lip and finally looks you in the eye. "I was trying to find the video camera."

Huh. "Why?" you ask.

He looks excited and nervous. "I have an idea!"

You wait for him to elaborate.

He clears his throat and begins gesturing with his hands. "Okay, so! Y'know how we always draw pictures of pretty things like flowers or of how we might look when we grow up?" He scratches the back of his neck. "And, like, the imaginary stuff too?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

His excitement seems to overtake his nervousness. "We can record it!" he blurts. "We can act it out and stuff!"

"Azzy, that sounds dumb," you say flatly.

He looks crushed. "Aw, Chara! Don't be so mean." He pouts.

You stand up and tap the top of his head. "That's a silly idea, Azzy! How would we do any of that, anyway?"

He touches his head as though you hurt him. "I thought that you could knit stuff – like clothes and stuff for us to wear." He seems to regain some of his confidence when you don't immediately bash the idea. "And this way, we can remember all of our plays and stories! We can act out and record stuff with the flowers and trees and my new butterfly!"

You're silent while you weigh the merits of that idea. After giving Asriel enough time to get anxious about your reply, you say, "Alright. We can try it out."

He fist pumps the air. "Yay!" He pouts again. "But I think I lost the video camera. I can't find it anywhere."

You sigh. "I know where it is." You retrieve the video camera from the bottom of your knitting basket.

Asriel gapes. "What! How did it even get there?"

"I put it there," you say nonchalantly, tossing the newly found object in his direction.

He fumbles with it, but is able to keep a hold on it. "Why'd you do that?"

"So you wouldn't record me without my permission."

"Why didn't you just say that?" He looks offended. "Of course I won't do that if it makes you upset!"

You shrug. "You have it now, so it doesn't matter. Or rather, it doesn't matter right now – Mom asked me to come get you because she says she wants to talk to us about what we're going to be doing today."

"Oh!" Asriel gasps. "Do you think they'll let us stay home? I hope so! It's so annoying having to walk around the Underground all the time."

"I don't know," you say honestly – but also to avoiding making him too excited. You hope you'll be able to stay at home, too; it gets really tiring walking around all the time. "Let's go find out, yeah?"

Asriel gently sets the video camera on his bed in plain view (presumably so he won't lose it) and then follows you out of the room.

Toriel and Asgore are sitting at the table talking in low voices. They glance up when you enter the room, and Toriel smiles at you, which you take as a good sign.

"We have a few questions for you," Asgore says, bringing your attention to him. He looks pretty serious, making you more than a little nervous about the outcome of this conversation.

"Take a seat," Toriel says, gesturing to yours and Asriel's regular chairs.

You sit on the edge of it, not wanting to relax in case you come across as careless or juvenile. You're gonna need to answer these questions with precision and confidence because goddamn it, you _will_ be staying home. You can't keep doing rounds and rounds again and again. Sure, it's fun at first, but sometimes you just need a break. And you really want Asgore and Toriel to see you as grown-up enough to be able to take care of yourself.

You glance at Asriel.

Or, you amend, at least old enough to take care of someone else.

"Chara, Asriel," Asgore begins. "Of course, you both know that we trust you two and that we want the best for you." He leans forward and says with emphasis, "We want for you to be safe, first and foremost." He relaxes a bit. "Because we love you. So then – why do you think that we should let you stay home, instead of going around the Underground with us?"

You sit up straight and puff up your chest. You don't want Asgore or Toriel to be upset with you, but damn it! This is one issue that you're set on! You're willing to argue your case on this one. You know that the Underground is safe, and Asriel can do magic, and you know where the food is, and Asriel has his cell phone, and you know you can defend yourself, and Asriel will help calm you down if you get worked up!

You open your mouth to begin, but before you can say a word, Asgore smiles widely. You freeze.

"All right!" he says. He stands up without any further ado and straightens out his clothes. You notice that instead of wearing his royal robes, he's wearing the sweater you made for him. When you look at his face, all you see is a noticeably pleased expression.

Huh. "That's it?" you say incredulously.

"That is it!" Asgore agrees.

Toriel looks amused, but doesn't say anything. She follows Asgore's lead and stands up, then crosses over to give you a hug. (It's more of a pulling-you-into-her-side-and-squeezing-you than a hug, but…well, you appreciate it anyway.)

"Whoa!" Asriel finally says, finally processing everything. "Whoa! Really really? Like really really really for real?"

You huff and hit Asriel's arm.

He makes a noise of protest, but it seems you can't knock him down from his high. Practically bouncing, he runs over to Asgore and says, "Thank you so much, Dad!" He latches on for a hug. "We won't let you down, we promise!"

"Promise," you echo.

"And we'll do our best and we'll keep everything clean and we'll be responsible and we'll be just like grown ups!"

Asgore chuckles. "I know, Ree. That is why we are letting you stay!"

Asriel makes a face. "Aw, I thought you guys were finally done calling me that! You haven't in, like, forever!"

"Forever? T – Mom did last week," you point out.

Asriel pulls back from Asgore and sighs dramatically. "The whole world is against me," he laments.

You untangle yourself from Toriel so that you can hit Asriel again. "Don't be silly, Azzy. C'mon, be happy! We get to play all day!"

Toriel clears her throat. "Ah, you do know that I expect your school work to be done when we return, yes?"

"Yes, Mom," Asriel says obediently. "We'll finish our work, and _then_ we'll play!"

Toriel smiles. "So long as you know what to prioritize." She waves Asriel towards her. "Come here, my child, and help me finish doing the dishes, please."

Asriel follows Toriel out without any sort of protest, presumably not wanting to upset her enough to make her change her mind. As he disappears into the kitchen, he turns and gives you a quick thumbs-up.

You count one, two, three, and say, "Why?"

Asgore simply looks at you.

You shift your weight and pull at your sleeves. "Why'd you suddenly decide to let us stay home?"

"You were…resolute," Asgore says. "And for that, I knew I could not change your mind. And I knew I could trust you."

You're taken aback. "Just because I was determined to stay home, you let me – I mean, us? That's really all it took?"

"Mhm!" Asgore says.

It makes him sound like Asriel, you think. In fact, right now he has a childish happiness surrounding him, and it confuses you a considerable amount. Why is he so happy that you're such a stubborn kid?

He sets a hand on your shoulder and continues, "You are a…wonderful child, Chara. And I admire your dauntlessness!"

You don't know that word, but you thank him anyway.

Toriel reenters with her arms full of paper and books. "You will be focusing on vocabulary today," she says, setting down and arranging your school work on the table.

"Aw," Asriel groans, trailing behind her. "Do we gotta?"

Toriel laughs. "Yes, you have 'gotta.' I feel that I may have been slacking with your work recently, with all the excitement going on." She stands up straight and looks seriously at you and Asriel. "Now, children - we are trusting you to stay home, and to be safe. Asgore is confident, but I…" She trails off, looking troubled.

"I know," you say reassuringly. "I _know_ you are, Mom. But how are we supposed to – to grow up if you never give us room to?" As you speak, you lose some of your steam and trail off.

Thankfully, Toriel's reservations seems somewhat assuaged. "Well, yes," she says. "I suppose that you are right, my child." She pulls you in for another hug. "You will grow, but...do not try to grow too fast, Chara."

You're not positive what she means by that (shouldn't growing up be a good thing?), but you still reply, "I won't."

She rests a hand on your head. "Thank you, my child." She gently brushes your hair, smiling softly.

"Tori?" Asgore says. "We should be leaving soon, dear."

Toriel glances at him. "Yes, you are right." She kneels and hugs you again. "Be safe, my child." She looks you in the eyes and smiles, then turns and does the same with Asriel.

Asgore picks you up and holds you for a moment, and, following Toriel's lead, does the same with Asriel. "Remember – do not hesitate to call us for any reason, alright?"

"Alright," you and Asriel chorus.

"Have fun!" Asriel tells his parents, smiling. "We'll call if anything happens. You guys can call us too, if you wanna."

Toriel chuckles. "We might, my child. We just might."

And, after another flurry of "Goodbye"s and "I love you"s and "Good luck"s, they're gone.

* * *

Vocabulary is bullshit.

You're sprawled across the table, pencil in hand but with a mark-free paper. You can't focus on your work. And why should you have to? Who cares if you do the work or not?

Asriel sees your procrastination. "C'mon, Chara! We gotta finish homework; I wanna go play!"

You stick your tongue out at him as you tap your pencil against the table. Something occurs to you. "Why do you sound so different from your parents?" you ask.

Asriel glances up. "Because we're different ages," he answers, sounding slightly confused.

You throw an eraser at him. "Not what I meant, dummy." The eraser falls into the floor and he leans over to pick it up. You slouch farther onto the table. "How come they _talk like this, with very precise words and not many contractions, if any at all_?" You do your best Toriel imitation. You think it's pretty good.

Asriel snorts. "You sound silly when you do that!" He uses his newly acquired eraser on his paper. "And the answer is the same – they're older, so they don't talk like a kid." His tone says, _Obviously._

You consider throwing your pencil at him. "Ugh, that's not a good answer."

Asriel scribbles down a word on the fill in the blank part of his paper. "You mean, 'That is not a good answer,' do you not?"

You level him with an unamused glare.

He shies away and sheepishly says, "Sorry."

You sigh. "It's just weird." You push yourself so that you're finally sitting up straight, stretching like you've just woken up from a nap. You should probably do your work. Matching, then multiple choice, then fill in the blank. Ugh.

 _1\. adj. having or using more words than are necessary  
2\. v. to confirm, make more certain, verify  
3\. n. an inhabitant or resident  
4\. n. calmness, composure, refusal to panic_

You lightly drag your pencil over the definitions and then glance over at your options.

 _A. Equanimity  
B. Verbose  
C. Corroborate  
D. Denizen_

Toriel has, of course, taught you these words before. This is supposed to be a review page, but you're realizing that you haven't really stored them in your memory.

"Why do we even need to know these?" you say. Asriel glances up at you again, and you think that you should feel bad for continually interrupting him. "When are we ever gonna use these?"

"Well," Asriel says, "I think Mom wants us to know bigger words in case someone ever uses them with us. We'd look kinda dumb if we had to ask what a word meant during one of our rounds or something."

"But we're kids," you say. "We don't need to know every word!"

"We won't be kids forever. Besides, Chara, these words aren't even hard!"

You beg to differ. "'Denizen' is easy because it sounds like 'citizen,' but how am I supposed to remember the rest of these?" you complain.

Asriel finally looks up at you, scrunching his eyebrows. "Wait, what are your words?"

"Equanimity, verbose, corroborate, denizen," you recite.

Asriel glances from his paper to you and back again. "What? Weird! I have complex, widow, cliff, and chamber."

"What the fuck?" you mutter. "Unfair."

Asriel makes a face. "Maybe Mom wants you to learn more words so you'll stop saying stuff like that."

You lean back into your chair and bring a hand to your chest, offended. "I'll have you know I can talk just fine! Using certain words doesn't make me dumb." You cross your arms. "If anything, you're dumber because you think they're bad. How can words be bad?"

Asriel seems torn between being upset, reassuring, and irritated. (All of which you can only deduce because he's absurdly easy to read. He's upset because his shoulders draw up; reassuring because he leans toward you; and irritated because his mouth is set in a line.)

Before he can say anything, you continue, "I guess it makes you sound really smart when you use them."

Asriel's demeanor changes fast as you can blink. "Yeah! And you're already smart so you just seem even smarter!"

He defaults to reassuring, you think. And that's probably your fault. But it's also good; it means that he doesn't get mad at you quickly (or at all).

"And I can try to help if you want me too," he offers. "I'm almost done with this page." He's on page two out of three, and you're still on the first.

"Don't worry about it," you say, drawing a line from D to 3. "I can do it."

You match 2 with A, and C with 1, and by process of elimination, you go from B to 4. The multiple choice is easy, and you guess on the fill in the blank using what kind of word it is - the one that needs a verb gets 'corroborate,' and it sounds mostly right, so you leave it.

"At least it's not math," you say, grabbing your second page. "Vocabulary and spelling are hard but I'd still rather do this than do long division."

"Mm," Asriel says absently. He prefers math, but he knows you hate it, so he doesn't even bother trying to defend the subject.

The words on the second page are just as hard as the others, but you remember these a bit better. As you fill out the paper, you wonder why Toriel gave you harder words. Or was it on accident? She never seems to play favorites.

You glance at Asriel as you finish off your second page.

You're not sure who the favorite would be in this situation, anyway.

* * *

Lunch, you'd thought, would probably just be sandwiches and lemonade since there's no one around to cook. You should have known better, seeing as how your mother is Toriel.

When your growling stomach leads you into the kitchen, you see that an entire casserole has been left on the stovetop. On the counter next to it is a little note that says,

 _There is a pie is in the oven for you two.  
Do not eat the whole thing, hehe!  
\- Toriel_

 _P.S. That was a joke!  
You may eat as much as you like.  
Just do not give yourself a stomach ache!  
\- Toriel_

 _P.S.S. I will not be mad if you are sick,  
I just do not want for you to be in pain.  
I love you both!  
\- Toriel_

You flip it over, and on the back is a heart.

"Azzy!" you yell. "Mom made food for us and she said there's a pie in the oven!"

Asriel, who had been in the living room coloring, rushes into the kitchen. "What kind?" he asks.

You open the oven and peek inside. And then you remember that pie crusts are a thing. "I can't tell," you say. "Grab me some oven mitts and I'll get it out so we can cut it open."

He hesitates. "Um, shouldn't we eat first? The casserole, I mean. If Mom and Dad find out that we ate the pie first, they might think we're irresponsible."

You wave away his concern. "Fine, I'll get the oven mitts myself. I can tell you just want me to burn my fingers, Azzy."

"What! No, I don't!"

You pull them on. "Just joking. And besides, how would they even be able to tell if we did? There's no proof. We can even put the dishes in the sink in reverse order so that it looks like we ate the casserole first!"

Asriel's eyes widen. "Whoa." He grins. "That's so clever, Chara!" He shifts his weight. "It's still bad, but…."

"But just this one time?" you finish, already taking the pie out and setting it on the counter. It's not hot, just warm – you probably didn't even need gloves – but it smells divine.

At the smell, he decides it's a losing battle. "Fine," he accepts.

You grin. "Good! Grab some plates and forks."

He does as you ask and you realize that you don't have anything to cut the pie with.

"Where are the knives?" you ask Asriel.

He glances around and then shrugs. "I've never had to use them before."

You sigh and take off the oven mitts, and open and close the drawers until you find what you're looking for. "Here," you say, pulling out one that looks appropriate. After a moment of consideration, you grab a second one. "We'll need one for the casserole." And, pausing again, you take a third. "And this one's a back-up."

Asriel takes a step back. "Chara, do you really need so many knives?"

You set all three down on the counter next to the food. "You never know if you'll need an extra knife," you say sagely.

"How about _never_ ," Asriel mumbles with his back against the far wall.

You pick up on and brandish it weakly at him. "Aw, come on! Don't be such a baby, Azzy."

He pouts. "I'm not a baby!" he whines.

You snort, refusing to give that a response.

Asriel, still pouting, walks up next to you. He holds out the plates with you messily cut out pieces of pie.

"Yay!" Asriel says when he sees the filling. "Butterscotch-cinnamon! The only way to make cinnamon taste good."

"I'm holding a knife," you quip.

He laughs. "You wouldn't!" he says confidently. And then he shifts his weight, looks away, and you can almost hear him say, _Would you?_

You lightly bump his arm with yours, which means, _Of course not, dummy._ You decide that commenting, 'That's what the extra knife was for,' won't be as funny now.

Plate of pie and fork in hand, Asriel walks out of the kitchen to the dining room table.

"What are you doing?" you ask incredulously. "We have the house to ourselves! We can sit wherever we want!"

He hesitates. "I think Mom and Dad would prefer it if we ate here," he says.

You scoff. "We eat at the table when they're here, so why not eat somewhere else when they can't see us? That way, when they do come back, eating at the table seems more special."

Asriel still looks unsure, but as he's hesitating, his phone rings. You both glance over at the cell phone sitting in Toriel's chair, but neither of you move.

You look, wide-eyed, at Asriel. "Did something bad happen…?" you mumble. What could have gone wrong? Are they both okay? Is everyone else okay? Did someone die? Did they _find_ someone dead? Do they know?! Do they -

"Hi, Mom!" Asriel says to the voice on the other side of the phone; you didn't even notice him move. "Yeah, we are right now. It looks really good, thank you….Huh? No, I didn't." He looks up at you. "Chara, was there a note in there?"

You fall heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. "Yeah, tell her I got it. And that I said thank you."

"Chara says yes and also thanks for lunch!" Asriel says. "They cut up the food all by themself. It's good that they were here because I didn't even know where the knives were!...Oh, that makes sense. But it would have taken longer to find that….Yeah, it was pretty easy! I think Chara had some trouble at first but that makes sense because their words were longer. And…."

You stop listening as Asriel continues to talk. Your heart is beating like crazy inside your chest. For no reason. God, you're such an idiot! They'd said that they would call, and here you are, getting all worked up for no reason. Instead of calming you down, though, the fact just makes you more upset.

You tug at your hair. Of course they didn't find anything. They're never going to find out anything. You can keep a secret. You're good at not talking about things.

"Chara?" Asriel calls.

"Huh?"

"Mom wants to talk to you!" he says, getting up to give you the phone. When it's away from his mouth, he adds more quietly, "I said your name three times. Are you okay?"

"Stomach ache," you mumble. Which isn't a total lie - you do feel like you might throw up. Asriel looks more concerned than you'd like, so you add, "But I'm fine. Hand me the phone."

He passes it to you, still looking dubious.

"Hey, Mom," you say into the receiver.

"Hello, Chara!" answers a crackly voice that is still recognizably Toriel. "Asriel says that you have already had lunch. Did you get enough to eat?"

"Yeah, it was really good!" you say, even as your food sits untouched in front of you.

"I am glad that you enjoyed it." She pauses. "Would you like to talk to Asgore?"

You set your elbows on the table and rest your head in your hand. "Sure." You feel anxious talking to them, still on some level worried that they'd found out what you'd done – that they had left you at home on purpose so they could gather evidence against you, proof that you're terrible and hurtful, and then they call the cell phone to warn Asriel about you, and then they'd come back with magic and monster weapons to chase you back to the surface.

Which is dumb.

But your pounding heart doesn't seem to agree.

"Hello, Chara!" Asgore says.

"Hello," you echo. "How's the round going?"

"Quite well, thank you for asking!" You can almost hear his smile over the phone. "We are currently in the Core."

You blink. "The where?"

You hear muffled conversation and what sounds like the phone switching hands. After a moment, you hear, "I apologize, my child, Asgore and W.D. are speaking. He has his hands full at the moment. He is holding a large container," Toriel explains.

"Oh. Where are you?" you ask.

Toriel says something that you don't catch to one of the others, and says into the phone, "We are in an area with W - Doctor Gaster that is called the Core. It is very new. As it needs a considerable amount of upkeep, Doctor Gaster asked Gorey and me to come help him today since you two are safe at home."

You sit up straight. "Is it dangerous?" you ask worriedly.

"Not for the three of us," Toriel says calmly. "We are all familiar with this place and take extra care while we're here. We will not hurt ourselves in this place."

"Is it okay for you to be on the phone?"

"Perfectly okay!" Toriel assures you. "We wanted to call you around lunch time to make sure that you are both feeling alright, and to let you know that we are a bit behind schedule. If we are not home before dinner time, you may eat more of the casserole I made for lunch, or you may have some of the leftovers in the refrigerator."

"We will. Good luck with – um, whatever you guys are doing!"

"Thank you, Chara! I will see you soon, my child. Have fun, and be safe. Goodbye."

"Bye!"

You hold the phone to your ear until you hear a beeping noise. You press the button that you're pretty sure will end the call from your side. You look up to ask Asriel, just to make sure, but he's not in the room.

"Azzy?" you yell.

There's no response.

" _Asriel_ ," you say loudly, drawing out the syllables.

When it seems like he's not within yelling-distance, you sigh and set the phone on the table. You push yourself out of the chair and walk into the hallway.

The front door is shut tight, so you don't think he's outside. You start to walk to your bedroom when you hear something coming from the staircase.

You stare at the steps as though they will give you answers. Why would Asriel go down there? Is he okay?

Gathering your nerves, you walk slowly down the flight of stairs, alert for anything out of the ordinary. You reach the bottom without a problem, but whenever you turn a corner, you see Asriel, staring out into the city of New Home.

You watch and wait for him to do something, but he seems hesitant about whatever he wants to do.

"Asriel!" you stage whisper.

He jerks his head. "Chara!" he says in the same voice. "Come over here!"

You walk over to him, nerves building in your stomach.

"I...I thought I heard something," he whispers. "I was walking past the stairs and I thought I heard someone calling for help. Shh – do you hear it too?"

You fall silent and listen, but all you can hear is your own breathing. You open your mouth to say, "Don't be dumb," and then you hear it.

It doesn't sound like a baby or a child. It sounds like someone who's upset, and who has the strength of a child. Someone who can't really protect themself. Are they calling the _word_ 'help'? You can't tell, actually. But they do sound like they need it.

You grab Asriel's arm. "Ignore it," you whisper sharply. "We don't know who that is or what they want. What if it's a trap?"

Asriel looks at you incredulously. "A trap for _what_?"

You stomp your foot. "I don't know," you say, failing to keep your voice low. "What if someone wants to hurt you because Mom and Dad are gone?"

"No one would ever want to do that!" Asriel argues. "And I'm old enough to stay home alone – I think I'm strong enough to take care of myself if someone _does_ try to hurt me for some reason."

You grit your teeth. "But you can't just run around being nice to anyone who looks or sounds like they're in trouble!"

"You – _you_ – that's what I did with _you_!" Asriel slaps your arm, looking angrier than you think you've ever seen him.

You recoil. "That's –" You want to say 'different,' but it's not. Asriel's right; his helpful nature is one of the only reasons you're where you are right now. You scowl. "Fine, whatever! But if you get hurt, it's not my fault and I'm gonna say I told you so."

Asriel calms down, but only a little bit. "Fine! Be a jerk, then! I don't need your permission to be a good prince!" He turns on his heel and starts running away.

Your hand curls into a fist. "A good prince listens to their family!" you snap before you can stop yourself.

He freezes. He looks at you over his shoulder, then turns back to face you. His mouth is set in a line and his eyes are watering. You two seem to be at an impasse that Asriel is desperately trying to bridge. "Fine," he says after a minute, and it sounds like a curse word. "How about...if I let you...get something. Something that we can…" He frowns. " _Protect_ ourselves with if we have to. That way, I'm not being unsafe or reckless, and you'll get to save me if it's a trap or something like that."

You cross your arms. "What happened to being able to take care of yourself?"

Asriel tries to rub away the tears falling down his face. "I-I'm not as...I'm not tough, Chara. I wanna be but I'm not and you are and I don't want you to be mad at me."

You hunch your shoulders. "Then stop crying." You bite your lip. "I'll – I'll be right back."

You race upstairs and start to go right, to get to the kitchen, but you decide against it and go left. You enter your room, eyes already scanning for what you want. You dash over and pick up your still-new gardening knife off your nightstand, and then take a slightly slower pace as you go back down to Asriel.

He stares, shocked, at the knife in your hand.

You shrug. "You have fire magic. I have this." You wave the knife a bit, pretending like you know how to handle it.

Asriel looks skeptical. "Chara, are you sure about this?"

You narrow your eyes. "If you're serious about going, then _I'm_ serious about making sure you don't get hurt. It's my job to protect you, after all."

Asriel cross his arms. "We're supposed to protect each other."

"Exactly," you say. He looks like he's going to say more, but you cut him off. "God, Asriel, do you just want to argue with me that bad?"

He hunches his shoulders and looks down, silent.

You wait.

"I don't want to fight with you at all," he says meekly after a moment.

"I know," you reassure him. "But you've either gotta stop being mean, or just don't go at all."

Asriel finally regains his posture. "Okay." He reaches out a hand for you, and you switch the knife to your right hand so you can hold it. He smiles at you. "Everything'll be alright! We've just gotta go see who's in trouble."

"Alright," you say. Your grip on the knife tightens and your stomach churns. You nod. "Let's go."

And you set out.


	25. Furtive

**fur' tive - adj., done slyly or stealthily; secret, shifty**

* * *

Within ten seconds of leaving the house, Asriel says, "Chara, I'm scared."

You pull your hand out of his so you can pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh deeply but don't say anything.

Asriel crosses his arms over his chest, pouting slightly. "Sorry."

You rub your finger against the flat side of your knife. "This was your idea," you say. "I didn't even want to do this, but you know what? I'm not gonna let us turn around before we've even found anything." You stop walking, taking a moment to survey your surroundings – to the left of you is a line of short buildings that have pathways weaving in and out and around them like a maze, and to the right is a wall of buildings that you can barely see a crack in, but that you're sure you could find a way through. To continue forward, you know, would take you to the garden. "Alright, which way are we gonna go?"

Asriel drops his arms and frowns. "I dunno. I couldn't tell where the voice was coming from."

You couldn't either, but since Asriel is acting like a child, you need to take the lead. You point with your free hand in a random direction. "Then we'll go this way." You start walking to the left before Asriel even has a chance to protest.

He follows a couple of steps behind you, clearly nervous and embarrassed. You sigh again and hold out your hand. Asriel hurries up beside you and grabs it before you can change your mind.

You continue walking in silence, broken only by the sound of your feet hitting the ground. It's almost too quiet, you realize. You look around New Home, wondering where everyone is. With Asgore and Toriel doing their rounds today, you thought there'd be even more people out and about than usual. All kinds of monsters live in New Home, so why can't you see a single one?

You repeat your observations to Asriel, who blinks. His eyes dart around, growing more worried by the second. His grip tightens around your hand.

"Never mind," you say quickly. "I'm sure that it's fine – it's not a big deal."

He stops walking, pulling you to a stop as well. "Chara," he says quietly. He looks at you with big, sad eyes. "Have you heard it?"

"Heard what?" you ask.

"Have you heard the voice call for help since we left the house?"

"No," you say, a feeling of dread in your stomach, though you don't know why.

Asriel looks down. His ears cover his eyes from your view, but from the way his shoulders are moving, you can tell that he's crying.

"Asriel," you say, snapping just enough to get his attention, "what's the big deal? Why does that matter?" You grip your knife tighter. Is someone going to try to hurt Asriel? Did he realize that this was a trap? You don't wait for him to answer. "We're leaving," you say with finality, deciding to retcon your earlier decision. Whatever is going on, you'd rather Asriel be safe than force him to deal with the consequences of his actions.

He looks up at you, mouth open in shock. "What? No! We have to go…."

"Go where? Go do what?"

His lip quivers. "We have to go tell them goodbye!"

"Tell _who_ goodbye?" Your voice is harsh, but you're fed up. "Jesus, Asriel, use your words!"

He stomps his foot, avoiding your eyes, and doesn't say anything. He's distressed, but frankly, you don't really care.

"This was _your_ idea!" you remind him again. "Stop being such a big baby!"

He squeezes your hand and draws a deep breath. "Whoever Fell Down!" he says, fast and loud. He lowers his voice, but continues just as quickly: "Someone Fell Down and we could hear them so I bet everyone else could too and Mom and Dad aren't here so we need to go do something!"

You know what that means, you think; or, well, you should know, but you can't quite put your finger on it. But you know it's something bad. "Okay, and how are we supposed to replace Mom and Dad?"

Asriel's other hand gestures vaguely. "We just have to be there?" You think he means it as a statement, but it comes out almost like he's asking your opinion.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Don't be – I mean, no." Asriel apparently thought better of whatever he was about to say, but you scowl at him anyway because you get the feeling he was going to insult you. "Besides," he continues, "we can't just ignore it. We've already come this far, so we should keep going. We gotta go see what we can do to help, Chara."

"And if we can't do anything?" you wonder, looking at him askance.

"We can't just not _try_ ," he nearly whines.

Try what? Try to pretend like you're adults? Try to fix a situation that you weren't involved with in the first place? There's no reason to try because there is nothing _to_ try.

Despite your thoughts, you find your resolve slipping at the look Asriel is giving you. You don't want to upset him even further, and you sigh in defeat. You pull your hand out of his and face him, then give him an awkward, one-armed hug. "Fine," you say after you've released him.

He smiles, pleased, but there's still an underlying nervousness in his expression that makes you a bit anxious in return. "All right," he says. He looks around, trying to remember which way you had been heading. You're both silent, trying to listen for a clue as to where everyone had gone, but you don't hear so much as a rustling leaf.

"Let's just keep going that way," you finally say, pointing in what you're pretty sure is the same direction that you had earlier.

For lack of a better alternative, Asriel agrees, and you start walking again. Neither of you says anything as you continue on your way. You wonder what you're going to do if you don't find anything. You wonder what you're going to do if you _do_ find something. What does Asriel think is going to happen? You're just going to show up, see someone who is sick or whatever, and then walk away. Your gait stutters as you remember – Fallen Down. A monster who can't get up; a monster who's about to….

Huh.

Shit.

You try not to let the realization show on your face, but shit, you don't want to go to a funeral! You want to turn around, you don't want to see a monster turn into _dust_.

 _You've_ turned _monsters to dust_ , a part of you reminds yourself. You imagine yourself stomping out that part of your brain. It'll come back, you know, but you don't want to listen to it right now.

You wonder if you'd be able to convince Asriel to turn around after you've already committed to going (again). You probably could, but at the same time, you don't want to make him upset with you. You bite the inside of your lip. You probably won't find anything, anyway, so you should stop worrying about it.

After another two or three minutes of walking, you finally hear voices. Asriel perks up at the same time, looking around to see where they're coming from. You see a large, intimidating monster turn the corner to face you guys. You stop dead in your tracks, but Asriel just waves casually and says, "Hi, night-night!"

You figure it's better not to ask why he just wished the knight a goodnight, so you keep your mouth shut. You can't help but feel like you're missing something, though.

Asriel slows down as more monsters come into view. He turns back around to face you, looking despondent again. "They must be done," he mumbles. "With the ceremony."

You pat him, attempting to be reassuring. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

He hunches his shoulders. "How is this in any way a good thing?"

You try to ignore the annoyed tone of his words, but you tense. You give up on comforting and smack him lightly. "The sooner the...um, process is over, the sooner people can move on. And now...that monster is happy, right? They're on their favorite thing, aren't they?"

Asriel rubs his eyes. "I guess you're right." He sighs. "Come on. Let's go back home."

You avoid as many monsters as possible on your way back. Asriel wants to ask them who had Fallen Down, but you tell him that he might be better off not knowing. He looks sad, but reluctantly agrees.

Finally, after a trudging walk, you're making your way up the staircase with Asriel trailing a few feet behind, when you're met with a scream.

"Chara!" Toriel yells.

You reach the landing to see an anxious Toriel running towards you, only to kneel and capture you in a tight hug. You clear your throat. "Hi to you too." You're abruptly aware of the fact that you have a knife in your hand. You try to stealthily slip it into your pocket, diverting her attention by bringing your other hand up to scratch your head. "Did you have a good round?"

Toriel acts as though she didn't hear you. "Child," she says, pulling back so she can look you in the face, "are you hurt? Where is...Asriel!" She sees him over your shoulder. "Chara, Asriel! Where were the two of you? Why did you leave the house – and without your phone? Are you okay? Are either of you hurt?"

"We just wanted to go outside," you say, hoping the hesitance in your response isn't too apparent. Damn, you really should have come up with a cover story before you got back to the house.

Asriel runs up the last couple of steps. "I'm sorry, Mom, I just forgot to bring it! And yes, we're both fine, neither of us got hurt."

Toriel still seems high-strung. "Are you certain?" She looks from you to Asriel and back, as though she's trying to figure out the question herself without you having to answer.

"Yes," Asriel says.

"Yeah," you add.

Toriel stands, letting out a sigh. "Well, all right. I am relieved that neither of you are hurt." She pauses and looks at you both seriously. "But I am disappointed that you left the house without letting us know." She directed that mostly at Asriel, you noticed.

"It was my fault," you find yourself saying before you can even really think about your words. "It was a spur of the moment decision, and I convinced him to –"

"What!" Asriel interrupts. "You did _not_! I convinced _you_."

You resist the urge to hit him or roll your eyes. You glance at him, trying to convey a message along the lines of, _I'm trying to help you; please shut up._

He doesn't seem to get it, and for a moment you're afraid he'll tell Toriel why you two had actually left, but luckily, Toriel laughs. "For some reason, I am unsurprised," she mumbles, looking at you two fondly. She turns around and gestures for you to follow her. "Come, now." She leads you to the living room and calls ahead, "Gorey?"

Asgore peaks his head out of this kitchen. He sees you and smiles. "See, Tori? I told you that they would be fine!"

Toriel narrows her eyes and Asgore wisely removes himself from her line of sight.

"I'm sorry we worried you, Mom," Asriel says again.

Toriel smiles at him and pats his head. "Oh...I am sorry as well, my children. I should not have jumped to such hasty conclusions."

"We just weren't thinking it through," you say. "We'll be more careful next time, we promise. Now that we've done something like that, we won't do it again." You keep your voice confident and repentant, but you await her reply with bated breath. She could easily say that you and Asriel are never allowed to stay home alone again because you've both proven yourselves to be irresponsible.

"I trust that you will," Toriel says, rubbing your hair as well. You stand stiffly, waiting for a catch or a condition. She notices your nervousness. "Chara," she says softly, "I am not angry. I was worried that one or both of you was hurt, but I am not mad at you."

You look up at her through your bangs. "...You mean it?"

"I do."

You turn your chin up and grin. "Thank you – Mom!" You throw your arms around her and hug her, letting her see your happiness and relief.

Toriel rubs your back softly. "I love you, Chara. I am glad that you are all right."

You pull back, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, me too. We promise to be good next time," you add.

Toriel stands and pats your head. "I trust that you will," she says again.

For some reason, you're filled with pride. She walks into the kitchen, finally seeming to truly relax. You're relieved that she's not upset with you – you don't know what you would have done if she were. You are, however, annoyed that both you and Asriel were careless enough to forgot the cell phone. But how could you have known that they would call again so soon after hanging up? You wonder what they'd called about, anyway; they must have needed something that couldn't wait. Or maybe they just wanted to say that they were on their way home.

You shake your head, deciding not to worry about it as you walk to your room, Asriel's footsteps audible behind you. Everyone is home now, and everyone is okay. Well, except for whoever died, but you don't think that they really count right now.

"Hey, Chara," Asriel says when you're standing outside of your room. You glance over at him – he's got a pensive look on his face. He lowers his voice as he continues, "Why'd you try to...to lie to Mom?"

You frown, shaking your head and gesturing for Asriel to follow you into the room. He walks behind you, trying to keep his mouth shut until you two are alone again.

"Shut the door behind you," you say, pulling out the knife and setting it down before walking over to your bed. He does, and then follows you, perching on the edge of your bed. You know he's not talking about the first little white lie – saying that you guys had left the house for the hell of it. He's asking why you'd try to take the blame for something that wasn't your fault. "Because I didn't want you to get in trouble," you say.

Asriel blinks. "Huh? Why would you –?"

"Because I didn't want you to get in trouble," you repeat, letting irritation seep into your voice from having to say the same thing twice.

Asriel fidgets with your blanket. "But you shouldn't lie," he says with the tone of someone who clearly has never had to lie to his parents.

You shrug and lie down, resting your head on the pillow. "It's not that big of a deal, you know." Asriel doesn't say anything, but you can almost feel him radiating disapproval – or, at the very least, discomfort. "It's not," you insist, staring up at the ceiling. "You know, sometimes it's better to lie. It sounds bad. I know it does." Your voice gets softer as your continue. "But people lie for all different kinds of reasons. If I'm trying to help, then how is it a bad thing?"

Asriel scoots further back onto your bed until his back is pressed up against the wall. "I...I don't know. I guess it's not." He looks up at the ceiling, too, and is quiet for a moment. You get the feeling that he's gathering his thoughts. "Does that mean you'd lie to mean, then?" The question sounds almost neutral, and you think it's the most impressive display of deception that you've ever seen from him.

"No," you answer quickly. "No, I – you, you're different, Asriel."

"How's that different?" Asriel asks, a whine seeping into his tone. "How am I different?"

You consider his question carefully. Why _is_ Asriel different? If anything, you should lie to Asriel more – he could ruin you with all the stuff you've shared with him.

That's it, you realize. You let the realization sink in before you say, "I...trust you." You feel like you should say more, but the rest of your words get caught in your throat. You trust Asriel not to hurt you (purposefully), not to betray you, and not to go against you. You're letting him sit on your bed, for God's sake, and the thought of telling him to get up hasn't even crossed your mind, despite the clear invasion of your privacy. You're not lying to him – you don't like lying to him. You will do it, of course, but you've noticed that you tend to default to telling the truth with him. How weird is that? And it's not that you dislike Asgore and Toriel because you...you really like them, too. Maybe it's the closeness of your and Asriel's ages that makes you feel closer to him, or maybe it's his weak nature; he's not a threat to you, not really. Sure, there are days when you wished he were stronger, but you have to admit that it's refreshing to be able to let your guard down fully.

Like right now.

Asriel still hasn't responded, and you turn your head to look at him. His eyes are trained downward and his knees are pulled close to his chest, arms wrapped around them as though he's trying to protect himself.

He looks weak, you think. Fragile. Soft. Young.

Unbidden, a thought flies into your head, and you wonder if you only enjoy being around Asriel because it makes you feel better about yourself. Who would call you weak when you're next to the epitome of a crybaby? Who would think you're childish if they saw this kid curled in on himself, timid and small, shoulders shaking with tears?

He's not crying now, though. You had thought he might be, with how stressful the day has been. You should be relieved that he's not, but instead it leaves you with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your gut at the uncharacteristic blankness on his face. Asriel is expressive; it's one of many things you like about him. Seeing his eyes so blank and his body so still makes you more upset than you'd care to admit.

"Are you mad at me?" you ask abruptly, nearly startling even yourself.

You're relieved when Asriel jumps at the sound of your voice, breaking that annoying tension in his body. He moves easily, stretching out his legs and setting his hands on either side of him, pressed against the bed. He sighs. "I'm not, I promise. I just – I really don't wanna lie to Mom and Dad."

"You don't have to," you object. "I wouldn't make you lie to them. Just….Whenever I need to lie for us, you don't need to speak up about it."

"How would I know when to…." Asriel trails off, frowning, suddenly looking guilty. His hands meet in his laps and he fidgets. "You don't lie unless you've gotta, right?"

"Right."

"So if I think you are, I can just...ask you about it later?"

"'Course."

"I think that sounds...I mean, I guess….That's okay." He meets your eyes, finally, and glances at your pillow. You scoot over to make room, and he lies down next to you.

"What, you tired?" you tease.

"Yeah," he mumbles, looking embarrassed but not turning his face away.

On an impulse, you reach up a hand to and pat his cheek. "Take a nap, then." You allow your own eyes to close.

"I'm not a baby!" he objects quickly.

You crack open one eye. "And you think I am?"

"What? I – no, of course you're not, I –"

"Take a nap, Azzy."

The exchange does nothing to assuage his chagrin, and he closes his eyes tightly, not wanting to say anything else. You, in turn, open both of your eyes.

You watch as the force he'd closed his eyes with begins to fade, lines and stress bleeding out as he falls asleep. He really must have been tired; that couldn't have taken longer than five minutes.

You consider closing your eyes, but decide not to waste time on a nap. You slide easily out of the bed and make your way out of the room on nearly silent feet, barely remembering to turn the lamp off before you leave the room. Asriel doesn't stir as darkness descends around him, but he does when you open the door. You hear the covers shift, but instead of freezing, you quickly slip out and click the door shut behind you.

Asgore and Toriel are in the kitchen, and you tell them that Asriel is asleep.

Toriel's eyes soften and she frowns. "I am sorry for wearing you two out as soon as you had returned home...but I am just glad that you are safe."

You wonder if you should be keeping track of every time she says that – that she's "glad you're safe." Maybe you should make a list of the moments to remember; to keep you away from making dangerous decisions. But the idea is gone as soon as you have it, and you decide not to worry yourself with trying to remember why you suddenly feel like you've lost something.

Asgore suggests that you take a nap as well while he and Toriel prepare dinner. You consider making a comment about how Toriel probably won't allow him to help much, but you're not sure you're ready to tease them so soon after upsetting them. You agree easily enough and take your leave, walking slowly enough that you hear Asgore and Toriel begin to talk in low, serious voices as soon as you're out of the living room.

You keep walking forward, though slower and slower. Should you backtrack and listen? They're almost definitely talking about you and Asriel. You really should know what they're not telling you.

But they'll probably tell you tomorrow. And you _are_ kinda tired. And Asriel is already resting, curled up in your bed, having fallen asleep thinking you'd done the same. For some reason, the minor deception squeezes your chest – not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that it makes you uncomfortable.

Your hand hovers above the knob to your bedroom. You can't hear Toriel and Asgore from this far away. Maybe they're already done talking. Maybe they weren't even talking about you to begin with.

Maybe resting once in a while isn't so bad.


	26. Impetuous

**im pet' u ous - adj., acting quickly or without thinking; characterized by rash decisions or emotions, impulsive**

* * *

"Chara," Toriel begins when you meet her in the kitchen the next morning, "I want you to know that I am not angry at you."

 _She must be pissed,_ you think. "I – okay?" you say, allowing your voice to sound small and scared in the hopes that she'll go easy on you.

"When Asgore and I returned home yesterday, we noticed that the casserole was untouched, and that two uneaten pieces of pie were on the kitchen table." She pauses and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat and your hands and your knees. "I am not mad, but I do not want for you to lie about eating."

"I didn't –" you start automatically, but the rest of your protest is stomped down by your incessant heartbeat. "I'm – sorry."

"Apology accepted," Toriel says with what sounds like a gentle smile.

 _Is that supposed to make it okay?_ you almost ask. The only other coherent thought you can form is, _idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot._

"Oh, and please remember to put up the knives when you are finished with them."

Your stomach drops before you remember – you left the kitchen knives sitting out; she was talking about that. She didn't see you with your gardening knife, you know she didn't. But you still feel sick.

"Now, would you still like to help with breakfast?" she asks, her voice losing any and all traces of disappointment.

"No."

Toriel's movement's again pause, and she finally turns to look at you. "I – You understand that I am not upset, yes?"

"I understand. I don't want to help." Your mouth opens and closes a few times silently before you add, "But thank you for the offer." You turn around and walk away.

You make it across the living room before your feet give out under you. You don't catch yourself, and your knees hit the ground with a sharp thud.

Okay, you fucked up. Get over it. Do better next time. You shouldn't have made such an obvious mistake, leaving the plates of food out and then leaving the house, but you can't do anything about it now. This should just be a lesson to be more careful. Don't go making flippant lies. Don't be so fucking careless. Don't be such an idiot.

You stand up and your knees burn. You grimace, but keep walking. You continue past your door and go to Asgore's, knocking on it and opening it when he calls, "Come in!"

You idle in the doorway. Asgore is sitting at a desk, writing what looks to be a journal. You can't read the words. "Can I go down to the garden?" you ask.

Asgore blinks and pushes the journal aside. "Are you and Asriel –?"

"Not with Asriel," you interrupt. "Can I go down to the garden alone?"

Asgore is silent for a few seconds. "You may," he finally says. "I...hope you have a good time in the garden, Chara." He gives you an odd smile. You return it with some effort and close the door.

You remember at the last second to grab your Gyftmas present from your nightstand. It'd be good to give the knife some use, you suppose; _actual_ use, not being used as an idiotic intimidation attempt.

Your hand pauses on the doorknob as you suddenly remember that you still haven't taken off your other present, the locket that Asriel gave you. The weight has become so familiar that you don't even notice it anymore. But now you can feel its warm weight around your neck. You keep it under your shirt so that you don't have to constantly worry about getting it dirty or losing it. Its heat is suddenly too much; you pull at the chain and lift it up, over your head, holding it tightly in your hand. You open the door.

You spare Asriel a cursory glance; he's curled up in blankets, playing with his stuffed animals. You walk over to the nightstand and set down your locket.

"Oh, hey, Chara!" he says. "Do you wanna play ?"

"I'm going down to the garden."

A pause. "Um, well, I can get dressed if you'll give me a second!"

You pick up the knife and notice that your hands are shaking. You grip the knife tighter, but it just makes the trembling more pronounced. "I'm going alone."

You hear Asriel shifting in his blankets. "Oh, well, okay. Have fun!"

You appreciate his attempt at enthusiasm. You're out of the room without another word.

You get to the garden in record time; at least, you think that you do. It feels like two steps later and suddenly there's grass underneath your feet. You look down and notice that you forgot to put on shoes or socks. Whoops.

You fall to your knees again and pain jolts through you from where you'd bruised them by falling on the wooden floor. Feeling anger coursing through your limbs, you stab the knife into the ground. It makes a satisfying noise. You grip the grass between your fingers, making your hands into fists, and it tears but you don't pull up. Your fingernails dig into your palms. Your hands feel like the only real part of your body.

You feel sick. Why do you want to grab that knife and plunge it into your stomach? Or slash it across your throat? Why do you feel so – so – so – _much_?

You curl in on yourself a bit and let out a short, loud yell. And then another, longer one. You straighten your chest abruptly and take in a big, deep breath. You hold it, hold it, and breathe out audibly. Black dots dance at the edge of your vision. Your hands unclench but you're pretty sure that they're still shaking. You fall forwards onto your forearms and then collapse completely, lying in the grass.

You stare at a patch of flowers. You don't know what kind they are.

Maybe you do. What color are they?

Blue. And green, of course. All plants have some green.

Because they're plants. Flowers are plants. Blue and green.

You blink.

You _would_ get up. But your muscles are very heavy.

With a great amount of effort, you roll onto your back. And stare at the ceiling.

Ceiling? Well, it's not the sky, but it's not a ceiling either. Roof? No. The...the top. Of the Underground. Not the top, but the...the….

The thing.

You would close your eyes if you had the energy to.

You reach out your hand and feel the handle of the knife that's still stuck in the ground. You exhaust yourself picking it up and holding it up in front of your face. You could plunge it into your eye socket.

You...won't. But you could. The light reflects off the knife in a very satisfying way. You move it around for a while before you realize that time is passing.

You blink and sit up.

You straighten your chest out again and take another deep breath. You...still kind of want to stab yourself in the stomach. The worst part is that you're not even sure why. Christ. You're so dumb. You laugh. It's as shaky as your hand is.

You hum loudly so that the silence in the garden stops suffocating you. You play around with the way the light reflects off the knife. It's very pretty. You like it. You wipe the dirt off it from where you'd stabbed it into the ground. It's much nicer when it's clean.

You frown.

But it's not clean because – the dirt is gone, but you must have gotten blood on it. You examine your hand.

Oh. You cut your finger.

Oh, it's...it's bleeding a lot.

Your hand is also still covered in the dirt that you'd wiped off the knife.

Ah. Whoops.

Blood drips onto your pants.

Okay. Shit. You don't know how to fix this. Um.

There are watering cans down here, right? You think there are.

You stand up and walk over to the corner of the garden where Asgore keeps the tools. You spy the watering can and grab it, letting your knife fall to the ground. You hold the watering can loosely in your right hand, and then turn it over, dumping more water than necessary on your injured hand.

Well. That was a waste of water, but your hand is cleaner.

The blood just wells up again, but now that there's no dirt (well...less dirt) on your hand, you just stick the offending finger into your mouth.

You make a face and spit repeatedly to get the taste of blood off your tongue. Wow. Bad idea. That was revolting.

You just put your hand down into the top of the watering can instead, letting it hang like a dead weight in the water.

You sit back down and allow your hand to rest in the water as you wiggle your toes to get some feeling back into the rest of your body.

Time passes.

You dump the water out. It's vaguely tinted pink. Gross.

Your hand rests atop your leg and you watch the blood from the cut stain the lines in your fingers. It's kinda pretty. It's bright and heavy and deep. Nicer than dust, at least.

You wipe the blood onto your pants and pick up the knife again. It isn't even particularly sharp - you must have had pressed your finger against the edge pretty hard. You're a bit surprised that you didn't feel it; and then you remember that you couldn't feel more detached from your body if you tried. Your hands and feet feel like they're miles away. You press your thumb against the flat side of the knife and wonder if rubbing it against the sharp edge would bring back feeling to your hand.

And then you stand up and walk over to the patch of blue flowers you were looking at. You reach out and rub the petals between your fingers, then sit back down and get to work. You briefly wonder if you should have grabbed a pair of gloves, but you decide that it's probably too late by this point, anyway.

The knife makes dull sounds as you work, uprooting weeds and pruning the flowers. After you finish with the blue flowers, you move over to another patch. And then another. You find yourself at a patch of harshly yellow flowers – your flowers, actually. The only ones that you're really supposed to be taking care of.

Buttercups, you think, are supposed to be wildflowers. Or weeds. Whatever they are, on the surface, they weren't anything special. They're not something that you would purposefully keep in a garden. But monsters are weird, so you've never really questioned their presence before.

By the time you finish, your fingers are sore and your knees feel bruised. You frown. You don't really know how long you've been down here, but you think you should probably go back up soon so that no one comes looking for you.

Now that you think about it, you're a bit surprised that Asgore let you go down to the garden by yourself, without even so much as a cell phone. You were clearly _affected_ by something, and you know he could tell by the way he was looking at you, so how would he know that you'd be safe by yourself? Why would he let you leave if you were so obviously upset? You weren't subtle, and Asgore isn't exactly the most unperceptive person you've ever met.

You could have hurt yourself; hell, you _did_ hurt yourself, though not as badly as you were thinking about doing. But the fact remains that it...bothers you that he let you leave.

You stand up.

Or maybe you should stop complaining about every single goddamn thing and just appreciate the fact that you got to come be around the flowers.

You start to brush off your pants when you see that there's a dull raid stain on them from where you'd cut yourself earlier. You make a face. Toriel will be upset when she sees that you hurt yourself.

Unless you can manage to hide it.

You briefly wonder at the honesty of what you're doing, but you push the thought aside before it can even fully form.

You kneel back down and start rubbing dirt against your pants. Toriel will be upset that you got them dirty, yes, but not nearly as much as she would have been if she saw blood on you.

When your pants are sufficiently covered, you stand back up and rub your hands together to get some of the dirty off. You grab your knife and put the watering can back in its place. Taking a deep breath, you begin the walk back up to the house.

About halfway there you remember that you're still not wearing any shoes. But, you think, it's actually kind of nice – your feet hitting against the rough ground, feeling the texture underneath you, hearing the almost inaudible noise it makes. You focus your eyes on your dirt-caked toes instead of looking around. You don't really want to see anyone staring at you right now, and you know that they would be. The human who lives with the king and the queen, walking around at this hour? – How strange! Though you don't actually have any idea what time it is, knowing your luck, you probably chose the most inopportune time to leave the garden. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel eyes pressing against your hand, your hair, your dirty clothes; judging you with both curiosity and condemnation. You must look like a mess. Like a hooligan. Like a vagabond. Like a –

"Chara!"

Your head snaps up in irritation. You can't even wallow in self-pity in peace, dang it.

You've about reached the entrance to the house, the part where you'd have to walk around a hallway before heading up the stairs. Asriel stands just outside the exit, a nervous smile on his face. "I was on my way to come get you," he continues.

You don't respond, but you do give him a weak smile, even if you're not really feeling it.

"Dad said to leave you to yourself for a while, so you missed lunch, but Mom made a really big lunch to make up for it."

You hum.

"Did you have a good time in the garden?"

You suppose you did. You nod.

"That's good!" Asriel walks up the stairs in front of you, but continues talking over his shoulder. "I was worried about you. Do you feel okay?"

"I feel fine," you say, finally speaking up.

Asriel seems pleased that he got a response. "All right!"

From down the hallway, you hear a noise of surprise. Toriel comes up to meet you at your bedroom door, setting down the basket of clothes that she'd been carrying. Asgore follows close behind. You assume Toriel had been on her way to do laundry. "I was not expecting you two back so soon…?" she says, looking at Asriel questioningly.

"Chara was already coming back," he explains. You nod in affirmation.

"Well, in that case –" she begins, and then cuts herself off, frowning slightly. "My child, what happened to your clothes?"

You glance down as though you'd only just realized what she was referring to. You find you're able to emulate a sheepish look, even though you can't really pinpoint any emotion that you're currently feeling. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

Toriel sighs fondly. "It is no trouble, my child. Asgore has done the same on many occasions."

Asgore looks as though he might protest, but he seems to realize the futility of it, and bows his head in acknowledgement.

"Go ahead and change," she continues, "and I will wash and return your clothes to you as soon as possible."

A few minutes later, you've got a new set of clothes on, your knife is back on your nightstand, and your locket is back around your neck. You're pretty sure that Asriel sees you put it on, which means he knows that you took it off. But he doesn't comment on it, so you guess he doesn't think it's that big of a deal.

 _It's_ not _a big deal,_ you remind yourself, even as the now-cold necklace seems to be judging you for removing it. You hold it tightly, trying to warm it up quickly.

"Asriel," you say.

"Hm?" He looks up over to you from his position in front of your dresser.

"When are we going to put pictures inside our lockets?"

Asriel cocks his head at the sudden question, but then he smiles. "We can do it today, after lunch! And we can take a brand new picture, 'specially for our lockets!"

You smile, and for the first time all day it feels genuine. "I'd like that."


	27. Degenerate

**de gen' er ate - v., to decline mentally, physically, or morally; deteriorate**

* * *

Spring comes around as it usually does: carrying allergies and a more restless atmosphere. But it's still so odd for the weather around you to be so stagnant that you wouldn't have even recognized the change in season if not for two things.

First, Asgore takes you and Asriel to the barrier so that you can see miniscule seeds float down through the Barrier. You watch it happen with an odd feeling in your chest; something between satisfaction and sadness. The seeds remind you of yourself, of course – that one's a given. And it makes you happy, to an extent, that such beautiful things can fall through the Barrier and liven up the Monsters King's garden. But then you remember that they're never going to be able to leave. Not that they would want to, even if they could think, because it's so much nicer Underground, but still. They were carried down here without any say in it, tossed by the wind down a hole where they passed through a magical Barrier, and thrown to the ground with no hope of ever seeing real sunlight again.

But, like you've said, at least they're pretty.

Second, Asriel will _not_ shut up about the fact that it "finally feels like a new year." He can't get over the chirping birds and blooming flowers. You tried pointing out the fact that both of those things happen year-round in New Home, but he ignored you. You gathered from Toriel that he behaves like this every year.

"He gets excited," she'd said. "Much like he does for the beginning of summer! And autumn. And Gyftmas. And birthdays!"

So you let Asriel be excited without teasing him about it. (Too much.)

And you have to admit that things do feel different, somehow. It might all be in your head, but you feel like the monsters across New Home have become more rowdy than ever. There seems to be a constant chatter in the air that sets you on edge as much as it relaxes you; everyone seems pleasantly buzzed, and you wish you felt the same.

Instead, you're stuck with watery eyes and constant sneezing.

The Dreemurrs insist that you go to the doctor, even as you insist that this happens every year. Not to this extent, true, but enough that you can recognize allergies without a creepy doctor pointing them out.

But when you say _insist_ , you mean that you're roped into it, whether you like it or not.

Sitting in Gaster's office sets you on edge, as it always does, but you notice that you've at least stopped sneezing. You let out a sigh of relief right as Gaster, who had been talking to Asgore, walks over to you and takes his usual seat. He notices the sigh, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he says, "Good afternoon, Chara. Can you tell me what is wrong, please?"

You shrug, trying to appear flippant. "Allergies."

Gaster nods sympathetically. "I had assumed as much."

You almost bite out, _Then why did you ask?_

"Now," he continues, "the problem started a week ago, is that correct?"

You nod.

Gaster grabs a pen from somewhere you don't see and picks up a sheet of paper from his desk, making a note on it. "And you recall that last year, we were able to determine that you had an allergic reaction to a Temmy, yes?"

Again, you nod.

Gaster continues writing as he speaks. You're not even sure if he's writing about you because he seems so absent-minded. "Well, it seems that the same symptoms have returned more aggressively because of your proximity to the King and Queen during this time of the year. Theirs is much less noticeable than a Temmy's, but it does not surprise me that you are reacting to it."

You frown. "It? Their what?"

Gaster glances up briefly. "Their shedding."

You make a face, but don't add anything to that statement.

Gaster taps his pen against the paper. "What are the specific symptoms?"

"Sneezing, like last time, but this time it's really bad." You bring up a hand and rub your eyes. "And my eyes won't stop watering. It's so annoying! I feel like I'm crying constantly." You pause before you ask, "Is there a way you can get it to stop?"

Gaster looks up, apologetic, and sets down the paper. "No – I do not believe that we have any human medicine, Chara."

You suddenly feel extremely stupid. Of course they wouldn't have anything for humans; hell, you doubt Gaster would even recognize it if he did. This isn't a place for humans. It was never meant to be a place for humans. Your gaze finds the paper that Gaster had set down, but with it upside down, you can't read it at all.

Gaster notices you looking at it. He picks it up swiftly and you feel your cheeks go red with shame. But then he hands it to you. "You may, of course, read it if you would like to."

Your flush doesn't subside, but you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Your eyes scan the top of the page, but it's covered in those symbols that you can't understand. A little over half-way down the paper, there's a line; everything underneath it is written in (somewhat sloppy) English.

 _Allergies - remedies? Ask T. Ask S to check GD.  
_ _Mask? Filter?  
_ _Eye drops  
_ _Gerson have something?  
_ _Eating healthy_

They all seem to have a theme, except for the last one. How does your diet relate to allergies? You turn the paper back towards Gaster and point to the last line. "What's that about?"

Gaster gives you a kind look. "It does not concern you, do not worry."

You feel a familiar distrust in your gut. "Then why's it at the bottom of my page?" What's he trying to hide? He must have wanted you to see it if he let you read the paper, so why is he being cagey about it?

Even as you think that, Gaster takes the paper back and shuffles it into the motley pile of loose leaves and notebooks on the desk. "It is not for you. Do not worry."

Okay, yeah, no. If this doctor doesn't want to tell you anything – fine. You just won't tell him anything either. "What's GD, then?" you ask, figuring you might as well finish your line of questioning.

"The garbage dump."

You blink. "Why – why would a remedy be in the trash?" you ask incredulously.

Gaster looks amused. "Occasionally, items from the surface fall into the Underground. While I doubt there will be any medicine, there may be books or tapes that could help me come up with an idea to help you."

"Why is it called a dump if it has useful stuff?"

A voice from behind you speaks up. "My idea," it says.

You whirl around, barely registering the look of annoyance on Gaster's face. "Sans, I have asked you –"

"Papyrus is sick," Sans interrupts. You notice that despite his slumped posture, he looks tense.

"How is he –?"

"Hell if I know, W.D.!" he shouts abruptly, looking impatient.

You shrink into your seat, not wanting to draw anyone's attention towards you. Strangers fighting around you stresses you out more than being in a fight yourself does.

But Sans catches your movement. He stares at you for a while before saying, "Okay, fine, take your time." He looks back at Gaster. "Take your time," he repeats drily. He turns and walks out of your line of sight. You think you hear a door open, and then silence falls over the lab.

Gaster looks...tired. You wonder if you should ask what _that_ was all about, but you get the feeling that it might have been more personal than Gaster would be comfortable sharing, and you don't want to piss him off. But who's Papyrus, and why are they sick? Are they one of Sans's friends? Before you can censor yourself, you wonder if Sans even _has_ any friends; he doesn't seem like an overly friendly person.

You mumble a bit before you manage to speak up. "Uh, I think that maybe you should go help whoever's sick. I'm fine, you were just saying so yourself."

Gaster looks at you and is quiet for a moment before he stands up, and reaches down to once again grab the paper he'd written his notes on. You stand up as well. He gestures for you to follow him and you trail behind, looking around the lab one last time before you leave. It's not as unsettling as it was the first time you came here, but you're still relieved to be leaving.

Gaster speaks with Toriel and Asgore while Asriel shifts his weight from foot to foot impatiently, ready to leave. You bump your shoulder against his to try to get him to stop, but he just bumps you back. Soon, you're locked in an intense match as you try to knock each other over using only the side of your arm.

Toriel breaks the two of you up, smiling, and tells you that you're going to be making a detour before you head home.

* * *

The garbage dump lives up to your expectations in that it appears to be a garbage dump.

You and Asriel take turns sticking your hands under a big waterfall while Toriel and Asgore talk around piles of trash. The water is cold enough to make you shiver, but it's not nearly as bad as the time you got soaked in Snowdin. Asriel, on the other hand, isn't holding up nearly as well. His fur is flat from the force of the falling water, and you say that you two should stop before one of you catches a cold, or whatever Toriel would warn you about. Your sneezing helps your case, though you know it's not related to the chill.

Asriel agrees, so you grab the drier of his hands and start wandering around the trash heaps. They're only about a foot tall, and most of them are submerged under the water. You and Asriel take turns fishing out items that feel interesting, trying to decide what some things that you don't recognize are. You do find a trowel that looks to be in pretty good shape.

"Keep it," Asriel says. "We can show it to Dad later."

He doesn't want to interrupt Toriel and Asgore's search, and you find that you're inclined to agree with him. You guess that they're here on Gaster's request, but you can't imagine that they're going to find anything legible or redeemable in a place this messy and wet.

There are lots of empty things lying around – CDs, boxes, cases, and wrappers. You find what looks to be an entire boxed set of a TV show, but due to the...you know, water, the DVDs inside are probably ruined. You try not to let it bother you – where would you have watched it, anyway? – but it is disheartening to see that someone was so wasteful with their possessions and you can't even do anything about it.

A bit later, when you're fiddling with what you're fairly certain is a Rubix cube, you hear Asriel's excited voice call, "Hey Chara, come look at this!"

You drop the cube into the water, bored with it, and wander over to where Asriel is examining something below the surface of the water. "What're you doing?"

Asriel turns to you with a sly grin. "Don't you mean, ' _Water_ you doing'?"

"No," you say, effectively stopping _that_ line of conversation from happening again. Asriel pouts, which you ignore, and you kneel beside him. "What is it?"

You both watch as Asriel dips a hand below the water; it's barely visible due to the poor lighting. When he lifts his hand, dripping, you see that he's holding what looks like a weak, young, waterlogged golden flower.

You eyes widen and before you can stop yourself, you say, "How did….?"

"I dunno!" Asriel says when you trail off. "But these reminded me of you. You've...mentioned them before, right?"

Any and all words you think of get stuck in your throat and you can only nod.

How are they here? How have some – some old flowers fallen into the Underground too? Well, you know _how_ ; you glance at the waterfall, wondering where it starts on the surface. It had to have been near your village, right? But you don't remember any creeks or rivers or anything that were close to town.

You blink slowly as you realize that it's getting harder and harder for you to remember much of anything about the surface.

"Do you want it?" Asriel asks.

You tear your gaze away from the waterfall and nod. You see Asriel hesitate, and then he's reaching a half-dried hand up to your face. You stay perfectly still as he pushes your hair behind your ear and tucks the flower between them.

You can't stop yourself from smiling.

"You're silly," you comment.

Asriel hums, looking satisfied with his work. He looks back at the water and grabs another flower. Yours is already dripping water down your neck, but you find that you don't really mind. Asriel tucks his flower through one of the loops in his sweater. "These are pretty," he says softly.

"Yeah, I know."

Asriel looks up at you with something in his eyes, and he cocks his head as though he's only just realizing something.

You don't get to find out what it is.

"Chara!" Toriel calls from across the cavern. She's holding something in her hand, and you're a bit impressed that they were able to find something that could help with your allergies.

Your fascination doesn't fade when you find that they _weren't_ actually able to find medicine (though you are a bit disappointed) because Toriel managed to find something way cooler.

Your new cell phone had landed on piles of other trash when it fell down, so it wasn't too wet. It turns on with a jingle, and then turns right back off.

Asgore holds up a charger with a proud expression.

Toriel puts both items in her bag. "There is no reason for you to carry them when they do not even work yet," she says. "When we get home, I will charge it and input contacts for you."

You grin. "Thanks! I've never had a phone before," you tell her. They seem super cool, and you're glad that you have one (even if it's related to the incident a couple of months back where Asriel left his phone at home).

"Ah, one more thing," Toriel says. She points at her ear. "Perhaps you should leave the flowers here. I do not think it would help your allergies to have it so close to your face."

Asriel looks ready to argue, and you feel the same way, but you cut him off with an, "Okay." Though you do give Toriel a pitiful look.

You drop your flower first, and it floats for a second before sinking to the bottom of the water. Asriel bends over and sets his close to where yours fell, letting go and allowing it to sink down next to yours. When he stands back up, you grab his hand.

As you walk through hotland, you notice that Toriel and Asgore are engrossed in a conversation with each other. They're walking a few feet ahead of you, so you can't quite make out their words. You wonder what they're talking about, but you decide that it's not too important. Unconsciously, your hand grabs at the locket around your neck. There's a picture in it now – in yours is a picture of you and Asriel standing in front of your home, and in Asriel's is a picture of you two standing together in the Ruins.

Your persistent sniffles continue as you enter the house and you wish you could just punch yourself in the face. Maybe if your nose was broken, then you wouldn't have to worry about allergies.

You and Asriel play together in the living room while Toriel cooks dinner and your phone charges. After a while, you start getting bored, but you don't want to hurt Asriel's feelings so you fake enthusiasm until it's time to eat.

After dinner, Asgore fixes tea and hot chocolate which you are made to drink at the table (to avoid any spilling incidents). You're only a little embarrassed.

When you're done, Toriel wishes you a goodnight and hands you your cell phone. "I hope that everything works. Let us know if it breaks, please. We will not be mad, I promise."

That's...a bit dumb on their part, you think. If you break something, then you _should_ get in trouble. Otherwise, how would you learn? You lick your lips. "Thank you, I will!" you say, deciding that you should stop being such a glutton for punishment, lest it actually happen. You overthink every little interaction until you find yourself at fault, but you don't know how to stop!

You hope that Toriel doesn't notice the sudden tension in your shoulders. You hope she doesn't see the irritation in your eyes or hear the slight waver in your voice when you say, "Goodnight, Mom." You squeeze your phone a little too tightly before sliding it into your pocket.

Together in your room, Asriel notices your subpar mood. He fidgets awkwardly before perking up. "Hey, Chara!" he says loudly, shattering the silence that had fallen over you.

You raise your eyebrows.

He shrinks in on himself a bit. "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to try something?" He looks at the floor, avoiding your eyes.

"Try what?"

Asriel hesitates. "Well, uh, y'know the camera?"

"More pictures?" you ask in exasperation. You don't mean to upset him, but you really are not in the mood to take silly pictures.

"Not that one!" Asriel assures you. "I meant – I meant the video camera."

You flop onto your bed. "Oh, my bad." You pause. "More videos?" you ask in the same tone as before.

Asriel crosses his arms. "We've never made any videos before!"

"But we've watched a lot – Mom and Dad's old ones."

"Those are different!" he protests.

You feel a smile tug at your lips. "Sure, they are ' _Ree-Ree_ '." There had been more than a year's worth of teasing material on those tapes.

Asriel covers his face, and you feel an odd sense of satisfaction. " _Chara_ , don't call me that! That was when I was a baby!"

You almost say, _You still act like one._ You decide not to. Instead, you roll your eyes even though he can't see you and add, "Besides, how is a video different from a picture?"

Asriel gives you a _duh_ look. "Videos move."

You grab your pillow and chuck it at him. The maneuver takes long enough that you know he could have dodged it, but he didn't, and now he's holding your only pillow to his chest with a glint in his eyes.

You have made a mistake.

You attempt to diffuse the situation. "Sorry, Azzy. Can you toss my pillow ba–?"

" _Yes if you make a video with me but you have to promise,_ " he says in a rush.

You would really rather not, but you know just saying that won't get him to drop the issue. You let your posture go limp. "Azzy, please, don't be mean like this," you say, adding a sigh at the end for effect.

He bites his lip, suddenly unsure of himself. "I-I'm not being mean," he argues, but it sounds weak even to him; he hunches his shoulders and worries his lip again.

"Yeah, you are." You pull your covers up closer to you. "Please, Asriel, you know I don't feel good."

His eyes go soft and teary and you think that he looks disproportionately guilty. "I just...I just thought it might make you feel better," he says feebly.

Okay, well, shit. You didn't mean for that you happen; you just wanted your pillow back. Seeing no other option, you push yourself up even though your limbs feel heavy and your head is stuffy. "Alright, alright, fine." You run your hands through your hair. "Let's do it, then."

Asriel bounces up so fast that your pillow falls to the floor. You return it to your bed while he retrieves the video camera. He fiddles with the buttons excitedly as he asks, "What do you wanna do?"

"This was your idea." You shrug. "We can do whatever."

Asriel taps a finger against the side of the camera, deep in thought. He jerks upright again and grins. "I know! We can make faces!"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "That's what cameras are for," you say slowly, as though you're explaining it to a toddler.

Asriel huffs, but doesn't comment on your tone. "Well, yeah, but it would be better with a video camera because you can see how it, like, changes."

You snort. "What faces change?"

"Well, you know," he says, fishing for words. "Like...um...hm….Oh!" He points at you. "Like how your creepy face goes from normal to creepy!"

You blink, almost taken aback. Your creepy face? It's...been a while since that was brought up. Not since that day in Snowdin where he accused you of doing it, even though you weren't. You hadn't wanted to do it again because it reminded you that your normal face scares off people enough as is. You still don't want to do it because Asriel never apologized for saying that. (You know it's only because you never told him it upset you.)

"Fine," you say.

Asriel looks at you quizzically.

"I said fine, we can do that," you reiterate.

"Oh! Um, oh! Okay!" he starts pressing buttons again, seeming to want to do this before you change your mind. He's grinning so widely that you don't even know how he can see; his eyes look nearly closed. "Okay, Chara, are you ready?" he asks.

You nod, feeling yourself start to smile already at how happy Asriel is.

"Do your creepy face!" he cues you.

You do; slack muscles, wide eyes, pulled back smile.

It's clearly been some time since Asriel has seen it. He lets out a little squeal and then laughs, just like the first time.

Then he frowns. "Oh, wait!" He starts turning the camera around and his shoulders drop. "I had the lens cap on…." He looks up at you plaintively.

As funny as that was, you're not in the mood for another go. "Ah, well. A missed opportunity."

Asriel pouts. "What? You're not gonna do it again…?"

He looks so sad that you find yourself saying, "Nope," in a lighter-hearted tone, throwing in a cheeky grin for good measure. Just to make sure he's not too upset.

His eyes scrunch up in confusion, but then he seems to catch on to what you're trying to do and laughs. "Come on, quit tricking me!" His finger presses another button and you hear a beep.

Both pairs of eyes fall to the video camera.

Asriel sighs. "Well, that was a dud," he observes.

"At least it cheered me up," you say lightly, trying to make him feel better for some reason you're not quite sure of. Maybe it's because he was doing his best to help you. Asriel isn't the kind of person who would want you to be hurt.

...Not usually, at least.

Your words make Asriel smile. "Yay!" He sets the video camera aside and says, "Alright, do you wanna do anything else?"

You breathe through your nose and let out a loud sigh. "I don't think I'm in the mood to do anything else, actually. I kind of want to just knit or something."

Asriel looks bummed out, but he tries to cover it up. "Well, okay! What're you gonna knit?"

"Bring me the basket," you say instead of answering his question. He does as you ask and you riffle through your yarn before pulling out a skein of red. The silence stretches as you look for the correct of needles. You pull out a size one and stick it into the yarn, turning to Asriel and finally saying, "I dunno."

Asriel gives you an unamused look, which causes you to crack up. He frowns. "Don't laugh at me!"

You grin. "I'm not laughing at you, Azzy, don't be silly. Your face just looked really funny."

Asriel gapes. "That was mean!" he squeaks, looking legitimately taken aback.

Your grin fades. "What? No, it wasn't." You set the skein of yarn aside with more force than necessary. "Don't joke about that." You're not mean – not to Asriel. Right? You wouldn't ever be mean to him.

Asriel bites his lip. "But it…."

"If it hurt your feelings, then that's not my fault," you mumble. You know he heard you because he pushes himself off your bed and walks across the room. You grab one of the needles out of the yarn and say, "Now _you're_ being mean."

"You were mean first!" Asriel yells, whirling around to face you.

"No, I wasn't!" _What the fuck!_ Why is he being so irrational?!

"But you were!"

"Were not!"

"Were too!"

"Shut up!" you shout, stabbing the needle down. It pierces your blanket. You don't care.

Asriel looks close to tears. "See? See! That was mean!"

You can feel your hands shaking. "You – you made me say that! It wasn't my fault, it was your fault!"

"No, I – you –!"

" _Shut up_ , Asriel!"

He suddenly goes stiff and he's sobbing for all he's worth.

You don't calm down. "No, don't do that! You're not allowed to try to make me feel bad." Your voice levels out, but it's still harsh and sharp and bitter.

He's got his hands in front of his face and his knees are shaking, and you think he's trying to say something (an apology, you would assume), but then he runs out of the room, the door slamming with a thud behind him.

And you can only hear your own breathing; it's coming fast and shallow. They're not panicky – they're angry. Because you're fucking _pissed._ It's terrible, and you're terrible, because you love Asriel! He's usually so amazing, but damn it, he's being _ridiculous_ about something so dumb! Why couldn't he just apologize like a normal person?

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and your fingers twitch with the urge to grab it and throw it across the room. You want to hit something.

You take out your phone and let it drop to the ground so that you won't break it, then make your way over to your bed. You sit and grab your pillow, holding it close to your chest. You can't break anything; don't break anything, dammit! You hit the pillow, once – then again, again, again. You can still feel the hits, but they're muffled. You hit harder. It's still too dull.

You set the pillow next to you and turn, sitting on your knees, so that you're facing it. You punch it as hard as you can. Left, right, _left, right, left right left right left right_ –

Not enough. You need to scream. You need to, to, to –

You hit your collarbone with your fist. It hurts. You do it again. _Hard._ You flinch, but your breathing evens out a little bit. One, two, three hits. The pain is...different. Dull. But still good. You think about trying it with your phone, but it seems so far away. You don't know if you can stand.

For the sake of regularity, you drag your nails across your collar and feel some of the tension drain out of your body. Your shoulders sag and you suddenly feel weak.

You let your hands drop to your sides and take a deep, trembling breath. Your eyes sting, but you don't cry.

Where did Asriel go?

To his parents, of course. He's going to tell them that you're terrible and that you yelled at him and he's not even going to tell them that he messed up first. You should have controlled yourself better (but he shouldn't have done that) and you should have – you don't _know_ what you should have done! Why did he have to be mean? Why did he have to overreact? Why are _you_ overreacting? You love Asriel, don't you?

The burning feeling in your chest would disagree.

You scratch at your chest over the fabric of your shirt. At first it's angry, and then it's almost lazy, like you're just doing it for the hell of it.

You close your eyes.

The door opens.

You shoot up out of bed, standing before you've even reopened your eyes.

It's Asriel, but he's alone. Toriel and Asgore aren't there. No one else is there to judge you or kick you out. You stop looking for adults and look back at Asriel's face.

He didn't tell anyone.

You cross over to him and you watch for tension, for nervousness, for anything that can tell you about how much he really hates you, but you don't see any of it. You don't see any hate.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is whispy and shaky.

"I – me too," you mumble.

He reaches out and grabs you, pulling you into a hug. "That was dumb," he says.

 _I'm dumb_ , you think. "Yeah."

"Let's not….I don't want to do that again."

 _Who would?_ "Me neither."

"Do you forgive me?"

 _Of course._ "Duh."

Still standing in the doorway of your bedroom, you feel Asriel squeeze you a little tighter.


	28. Propensity

**pro pen' si ty - n., an inclination or natural tendency to behave in a particular way**

* * *

Asriel saw the scratches. You know he did. You know he saw your red-lined skin, and your messed up bed, and the pale purple bruise around your collar.

He doesn't say anything about it.

The next few days pass quietly, if a bit tensely. Your voice is more terse than usual, and Asriel somehow apologies even more often than he used to, but you don't think Toriel notices anything wrong with either of you. You attribute this to the fact that, if anything, you're more affectionate with Asriel now. You find yourself putting a hand on his arm or shoulder, grabbing him, leaning into him as though you're trying to convince yourself that he's still really there.

You don't want to hurt Asriel. You really don't. It almost pains you because you _really, really_ don't want him to be upset (in general, but especially in regards to you) or hurt or sad – ever. Which is impossible, and you know that it is, but you can't help wishing that it were.

You think about this as your eyes are trained on the dimly lit doorway. Toriel never turns off the hallway light, so you can see light leaking under the crack.

You glance at Asriel's bed, but all you can make out is a lump of blankets and pillows. You try to see the rise and fall of his makeshift nest, but it's too dark for you to make out much movement.

You sigh and wonder what time it is. Being underground really fucks with your perception of how time passes. For all you know, the monsters in the Underground are actually nocturnal, and you've been going to sleep at 7 a.m. ever since you fell down. In fact, even their calendars could be wrong or different. Who knows what day it really is? But then, does it even matter? Knowing it's apparently mid-May doesn't mean you've suddenly got to deal with rainy and windy days, or prepare for summer vacation. And, well, you doubt that Toriel will be giving you guys a break from school for three months just because you used to do that on the surface.

You roll over and close your eyes, but your thoughts don't quiet. You pull your pillow around and up over your ears, as though that will help. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't. If anything, you think bitterly, you're _more_ awake now.

You try to take a deep breath, but you suddenly feel like the darkness is pressing in on you; and even with the noise you're making, you feel like the silence is too much. Everything feels like too much. There's a burning feeling in your stomach – you're not going to throw up or anything, but you don't know how else to describe it. You feel antsy; like there's still annoyance or anger or _something_ burning just below the surface of your skin, and you don't know how to put it out. It fills you with dread; it makes you worried for Asriel.

You don't want to hurt him, but what if you can't stop yourself?

You throw the covers back and sit up. You shiver at the sudden drop in temperature, but you ignore it and stand, watching Asriel carefully. He doesn't stir.

You open the bedroom door a crack and listen before peeking out into the hallway. You quickly slip out of the room when you assess that the coast is clear. You curl your toes, feeling the hallway floor rub against them uncomfortably. You briefly wonder if you should go back in to grab a pair of shoes (because after the last time you left the house barefoot, your feet were completely covered in dirt), but you don't want to risk waking Asriel up.

You take a deep breath, leaning against the door, and wonder if you're really doing this. It's dumb. It's a dumb idea. But you feel like it will help.

But then….What kind of weirdo finds comfort in just being around flowers – in the middle of the night?

You push yourself away from the door and walk purposefully towards the stairs. You hesitate at the top of them, wondering if this is as dumb an idea as you feel like it is and if you should just turn around, but you know that you won't be able to sleep if you don't do _something_. You take the steps two at a time.

When you find yourself outside, you decide that, yes, this is a dumb idea. The ground is cold under your feet, and the pressing silence belies the perpetual light that New Home is bathed in. It feels wrong to be out here.

You walk faster.

You're alone; you're obviously alone because it must be two in the goddamn morning, and no one is awake to see you walking towards the garden barefoot, like a fucking psycho.

And then you see movement.

You jerk, feeling your heart hammer against your chest, eyes darting around trying to find the source of the movement. But you don't see any monsters or….

At least, you don't _think_ it's a monster. It might be a plant, but regardless, it's undulating in a way that makes you uncomfortable. The creature is unremarkable, and if you had seen it in almost any different context, you would have ignored it. But now, you can feel that burning coming back, stronger and stronger. You try to walk away, ignoring it, but the monster starts following you.

You walk faster, but the thing doesn't seem keen to let you out of its sight, and it speeds up as well. Without fully thinking it through, you turn on your heel and look at it. "Leave me alone," you snap. It ignores you and keeps moving and wiggling. You clench your jaw. "Go away!" Your voice cracks on the word; it echoes around the empty street.

You don't want it here. You don't want to be around anyone or anything.

It stops moving for a moment, and you think it might finally leave, but then it lurches forward and touches your foot.

You feel sick to your stomach and your throat is tight and you want to _scream_ and _hit_ and – and if you do you will or kill this _thing_ but what does it _matter,_ it doesn't even have a _face_ it's _useless_ just like _you_ so you _do._

You kick it as hard as you can and it flops backwards, pathetic and weak, and when it hits the ground it…dissolves. And turns into dust.

You stare at it for a long time, and then drop to your knees. You frown and clench your teeth. "I told you," you whisper. "I told you. I told you, and you didn't _listen_ to me." You feel your face contort. "Why didn't you just pay attention to me?" your voice is accusing and sharp and bad. You feel your heart beat fast and you're mad, and so you hit the dust and some of it sticks to your hand and you feel like you're going to be sick. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault!" You wipe your hand on the ground use the other to pull at your hair. "You…you…idiot! I warned you so you can't blame me! Get _away_ from me!"

You scramble backwards and push yourself up, and then run away. And it's a cowardly thing to do, and you hate it, and you run faster.

Your chest feels tight, so tight, but that's good because maybe your ribs will strangle your heart and lungs and then you'll die, just drop dead, right here, right here –

You enter the long hallway and try to slow down, but your trip and fall onto the hard floor. You land on your arms and it hurts. You punch the floor and it hurts even more. You want to hit your head against the floor.

Your arms almost give out when you try to push yourself up, and you wince in pain but try again.

Your arms almost give out a second time when you hear a voice.

"So, uh…what're you doing here, kid?"

Your head snaps up and you stand quickly, heedless of the pain in your knee. It's the skeleton guy from Gaster's office.

And you take some time to really look at him. He's not…old or anything. Which is probably ironic, considering he's a skeleton. But his clothes make him seem young – a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he's got his hands in his pockets. He's short. And his voice, while low, isn't gravely or anything like Asgore's. It's just…low.

He holds up a hand when you only continue to stare. "I've already heard your voice, y'know. It's not a secret that you can talk. What's the royal pain doing out and about this late?"

You gape. "The royal _what?_ "

He shrugs. "Well, you're not a prince or a princess, are you? 'Pain' is gender neutral." And despite the fact that his face has been smiling this whole time, you feel like he just put on a shit-eating grin.

"What do you want?" you snap. It's like he thinks you're up to something. Did you just murder ( _your stomach lurches and the burning feeling is all over you now_ ) a monster? Yeah, sure – but is that any of his business? Hell no.

Sans rocks back on his heels. In an almost sing-song voice, he says, "I asked you first. We can play this game all night, if you like." He stretches a bit. "I have a baby brother, you know. If I can deal with him, pretty sure I can handle you."

You scowl. "I'm not –"

"Not a brother. I know," he interrupts, throwing his head back. "Not what I meant kid, and you know it."

You decide that you do not like Sans. "I'm going to the garden," you admit.

He cocks his head. "In the middle of the night?"

"I like flowers," you say, and your voice sounds just defensive enough that you think he buys it.

He chuckles, then holds both his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. "That's fine. This isn't a personal attack, so keep your barbs at bay, please." He pauses. "You gonna ask me what I'm doing here?"

You consider waiting in silence, but you get a better idea. "I figured that was _your_ business," you bite out.

He's either grinning or grimacing – you can't tell the difference. "Ouch, kid. Fine then, fine. I know when I'm not wanted, alright?" He gives you a mocking two-finger salute. "Have fun with your flowers."

He makes a show of keeping his distance as he walks around you towards the exit. When he reaches it, you lick your lips and call out, "Hey, how old are you?" You don't know why you spoke up. Maybe you just need something, anything to think about, other than yourself.

He stops walking but doesn't turn around. He mumbles something that you don't catch, but you can somehow still feel the bitterness in his tone. He glances at you over his shoulder. "I'm thirty-one. Or thirteen. Take your pick." He laughs like that was supposed to be funny (you're pretty sure it wasn't), and this time it really is bitter and annoyed, but you're not sure why. "So you're still a kid to me, kid. Hell, _I'm_ a kid to me." He sounds like he's about to keep talking, but then he sighs. "Have fun with your flowers." But this time, he sounds almost genuine.

"Um, yeah." You almost say _You too_ , but luckily, you have slightly more self-awareness than that. "Thanks."

Sans doesn't respond, and the next moment, he's vanished into that perpetual twilight that hovers over New Home.

And, well…Maybe Sans isn't a _total_ asshole, or a complete spoiled brat.

Or maybe he just wants something from you.

You frown and turn back towards the garden, your pace much slower than before. It _is_ possible the Sans wants something from you, but to be frank, you have no clue what that something would be. And he hasn't exactly been endearing himself to you, so it's not a favor. Information? Maybe he wants to know more about the royal family. You know that Gaster is close to Toriel and Asgore, but maybe Sans isn't as close to Gaster as he seems, so he never gets told anything important. You huff.

You soon find yourself at the garden, but instead of going over to the flowers, you keep walking. The grass feels so soft under your feet in comparison to the hard walkway you've just left that you drag your feet a bit, savoring the sensation.

The Barrier feels different when no one else is there; less like a wall, and more like...an ocean or something. It feels expansive and powerful and dangerous.

You want to reach out a hand. Of course, you'd never dare to try it if Asgore were there, but you've noticed that when you're alone, your impulse control lowers significantly.

You take a deep breath and then extend your arm, watching as the Barrier bathes it in light. But you don't feel any resistance; for a moment, you wonder if the Barrier is just an illusion, but you quickly discard the idea. Asgore (or Gaster, you suppose) would have realized that immediately if it were the case.

Emboldened by your success, you take a step forward, keeping your hand held out in front of you. The pulsing, monochromatic light of the Barrier casts unsettling shadows on the fabric of your shirt.

You stop walking.

You frown, and try to take another step forward.

You can't. It's like your feet are perceiving the air in front of them as a solid object, even as you wave your hand out in front of you. You lift your foot up like you're trying to step over an invisible wall, but your efforts are pointless. Both your arms and eyes agree that the Barrier is insubstantial, but your feet clearly disagree.

Suddenly, the Barrier feels too pressing, regardless of the fact that there's no real pressure. You walk backwards quickly, frowning, and you cross your arms as you realize that you're very, very cold.

You stop moving when you feel grass under your feet again. You look down, lifting them up and setting them down to watch the grass move. It doesn't take any strength to be able to move grass. Grass is soft and easy to bend.

You sit down, and the grass, of course, bends under your weight. You set your palms down, seeing the grass move at the slight pressure. It's not that you're strong; the grass is just weak in comparison to you.

You suppose that makes sense. You're not strong; you're really not, and you know that. But you have such a capacity, such a tendency for _hurting_ people and it really can't be your fault because you're _not strong,_ you're weak, you're so _fucking_ weak and you hate it, but here you are! Here you are, sitting in the royal garden with dust still probably under your nails because you hurt someone – you killed someone.

You _fucking_ killed someone.

Just because that burning wouldn't go away.

As soon as you think about it, you feel it again; you feel it everywhere. It's in your stomach and chest, your hands and feet, and throat, and eyes, and you don't know how to make it stop. You wish it weren't there, but you know that wishing that is pointless. You get the feeling that it's not going to go away. Not easily, at least. And you've never been the type to try the harder way out, even if it would better for you and the people around you in the long run. You're much too selfish for that.

And then, for the third time that night, you're startled as a monster sneaks up on you.

"Chara? Is that you?"

You stiffen for a second, and then calm back down. "Yeah, Azzy," you call.

He doesn't anything, and for a moment you wonder if he's going to leave. But then you hear him walk up behind you, taking a seat beside you. "What're you doing out here?"

You turn your head to face him. He looks groggy; his eyes keep closing for a second too long, and his posture is terrible. You wonder if he'll fall asleep in the middle of a conversation, but you don't even get to the point. He slumps over, leaning onto you, and you feel his dead weight against your side.

You sigh. He shouldn't have followed you.

But he must have woken up well after you left, since he just now caught up with you. How did he know you were in the garden? Why did he wake up? And why did he think it was worth it to follow you?

You find that it's getting harder and harder to focus. You should shake Asriel awake so that you can walk back up to New Home. You really should…You….

You jerk awake with a start. Asriel is still leaned precariously against your shoulder, so you don't think you actually fell asleep. You huff and push him away from you, holding him up. "Azzy."

Asriel sways, blinking his eyes open blearily. "Chara…?" He glances around. "Why are we…?" He sits up straight and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "Wait, I remember. But why did you come down here?"

You sigh. "I just wanted to take a walk."

Instead of bombarding you with (justifiable) questions, Asriel says, "Okay. Do you wanna go back home now or do you wanna wait some more?"

The burning under your skin isn't gone, but it's a bit easier to ignore.

When you don't respond, Asriel stands, presumably to give you more time alone, but you follow his lead. He smiles, relieved. "Let's get back to sleep," he says.

You feel so many works sitting heavily in your mouth, and the ones that end up coming out are, "Can we...I meant, can I...or can you…?"

Asriel smiles. "Yeah!"

So you end up in Asriel's bed, watching him breathe heavily in his sleep until you finally feel calm enough to drift off.

* * *

It hadn't even occurred to you to ask Asriel not to tell Toriel and Asgore about your late-night excursion. You hadn't even thought he would until, over a casual breakfast the next morning, you hear the words, "Last night, Chara –"

"Had a weird dream!" The words fly out of your mouth before you can even register them properly.

Asriel turns to you, confused, before his eyes widen and he ducks his head.

Your mind races – that was clearly a lie, and they could definitely tell, so you need to fix it. "It wasn't a nightmare, though, I promise." Haha, there! They might expect you to lie about a nightmare or a panic attack, so as to avoid worrying them. Still, the lie feels almost _too_ obvious; you're not _that_ bad at lying about your bad dreams.

Toriel goes from confused to concerned faster than you can blink. "Oh, my child. You do not need to…." She hesitates. "That is, it is normal to be affected by unsettling dreams, even if you would not classify them as a nightmare."

You duck your head sheepishly as well, so that you and Asriel are both looking down and picking at the last bites of food on your plates.

A few more moments of silence pass, and then Toriel says, "Have both of you gotten enough to eat?" You and Asriel nod, and she picks up your plates, saying, "I will take care of the dishes for today."

Asgore gives her a look. "Tori, if you insist on doing work the day before, that negates the point of a free day."

You perk up at those words. What sort of free day? Is there a holiday tomorrow?

Toriel scoffs. "I believe we will never agree on that subject, dear." Shifting the dishes to the crook of one arm, she reaches down with the other and pats Asgore's hand. "It is best not to argue." She reaches in front of him and picks up the plate.

"When did I say I was done eating?" Asgore asks, though he looks and sounds highly amused.

Toriel waves a hand, holding silverware, flippantly. "Whenever you put down your fork, knife, and spoon for more than two minutes."

Asgore smiles. "How rude!"

Toriel's eyes sparkle. "Oh, of course!" She giggles, and Asgore chuckles along with her.

You watch the interaction with interest, not quite understanding why neither of them are upset. Toriel and Asgore seem to have a second, unspoken language that they communicate in at the same time that they speak. There's a deep intuition there. You wonder why they're so close, and you wonder if _anything_ could tear them apart. (You doubt it.)

Asgore follows Toriel into the kitchen, despite her protests, to put away the leftovers. You glance at Asriel. He looks sad, so you try to take your mind off of whatever's worrying him. "What's the free day tomorrow?"

It works; Asriel laughs. "Not a free day for us – it's Mother's Day!"

"Oh." Huh. You...well, shit, you didn't think that was a real thing. For some reason, it made sense in your head that only the mothers in your village (led by your own mother) decided that they wanted a special day to be especially mean to their children; a day, of course, to complain and stomp on flowers and tear up mandatory cards made at school.

You get the feeling that Toriel doesn't celebrate Mother's Day in the same fashion.

Asriel tells you that you can make a gift for Toriel if you want, but you don't have to. You would disagree (it seems that gifts are at least somewhat required in the Underground, too), but you don't mind as much as you might have. Toriel is good at being nice; plus, you actually _want_ to make something for her. You want to make her happy, and a gift would be a good way to do that.

You ask Asgore for ideas, and with his help, you spend the day making a pseudo-card. It's just a flat piece of paper, but you colored it and wrote the words "Happy Mother's Day" at the top. You glued real grass and real flowers to the paper, so that it's 3D and, well, realistic. Asgore says it's "very nice" and Asriel says it's "super cool," but you can't help but feel nervous for Toriel's reaction.

You sigh and set the card aside to dry. You're probably just being paranoid. Really, what's the worst that could happen?

* * *

 _It's dark. It's really dark. It's really, really dark, and you can't breathe, and then suddenly there's light._

 _In the new brightness, you can see that you're all alone. Of course you're alone; why would anyone be here?_

 _Even as you think that, you see Asriel appear only feet away, his back to you._

 _You breathe a sigh of relief and rush forward, wrapping your arms around him. "Azzy," you say, "where were you? I couldn't find you in the dark."_

 _You realize that your arms aren't touching anything. There's no figure standing in front of you. You look down and see a pile of dust._

 _You_ – _what?_

 _No_ – _no, no, no, no, no_ –

 _Dust covers your hands, your shirt, your pants_ – _dust covers your body. Favorite thing, your mind supplies_ – _you scatter dust on a monster's favorite thing._

 _You don't feel tears prick your eyes. You don't feel nauseous. Your hands are steady; your breathing is steady. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you think. It's a clever, witty thing to think. You are quite clever. You always have been._

 _You look up. In front of you stands a whimsun. That's funny, so you laugh. Why is that funny? Why is that funny? You laugh. The whimsun falls apart and you laugh harder, doubling over._

 _But then a froggit appears by your feet. It was an accident_ – _no, no, it wasn't even an accident, because it wasn't your fault. The froggit must have have been sick, ailing, close to death, because there's no way that kicking it out of your way when you weren't paying attention killed it. It never happened._

 _And then that sentient, jelly-like creature is there, and there's an entirely different feeling in your gut. You can't pretend like that was an accident. You can't pretend like you didn't want to hurt it. Because you did. You did it on purpose._

 _You thought you could embrace the fact that you're a monster? You're suddenly mad at yourself for being so fucking dumb._

 _Dust piles onto your shoes and you can't move. Asriel, whimsun, froggit,_ – _they all reform out of the dust, drooping bodies with no faces but you can feel their stares; they stand beside your most recent victim. None of them have any color; they're all white and shades of gray._

" _It was an accident," you say, but your voice sounds distorted._

" _Liar," you hear. "Liar. Liar. Liar."_

 _And they're right_ – _right? Even at the beginning, you think, could you really pretend it was an accident? You must have known. You must have known that hurting a monster would result in its death. You've done it three times_ – _three fucking times. And you'll do it again._

 _The three monsters you didn't know all dissolve again, leaving only Asriel standing._

 _The dust wraps around your wrists, then your neck. You think you might cry. You call for Asriel to help you, but his blank face watches with disinterest. You fall to your knees when the dust shackles around your ankles yank you forward._

 _You fall to your knees in front of Asriel and suddenly feel something like rage in your stomach. You feel bitterness, resentment, jealousy, envy. You feel the ugly green emotions, like the color of your shirt; you feel the resentful red emotions, like the color of your eyes. Your skin burns. You look down at yourself to see that your skin is bright red_ – _stark and evil against the white of the monsters' dust._

 _When you look back up, Asriel is gone. In his place is single flower, covered in dust._

 _You scream._

* * *

You jerk awake, looking around the room wildly. Asriel, thankfully, doesn't stir. You breathe heavily through your nose and flop back onto Asriel's bed (you didn't want to sleep alone again). You close your eyes and frown. You suppose you deserved that for lying to Toriel and Asgore about having a nightmare.

Your skin still feels hot; your chest feels tight; your stomach feels bad.

You grab Asriel's hand, and you feel your eyes water when, this time, it doesn't make the lingering ugly feelings go away.


End file.
